
Glass _^^ 

Book CG_ 

CdyrigteS ? jgig'^ 

0OF»»GHT DEPOam 



THE 

WORKS OF BRET HARTR 

COLLECTED AND REVISED BY THE AUTHOR. 



CONDENSED NOVELS 

AND STORIES 



BY 



BRET HARTE 



ao 





BOSTON 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK: II EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET 

1882 



P2- 



C4 



Copyright, 187I5 1876, 1877, 1878, and 1879, 

By BRET HARTE, SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING CO. 

AND HOUGHTON, OSGOOD & CO. 

Copyright, 1882, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 



All rights reserved 



CONTENTS. 



STORIES. 

rAOE 

THE STORY OF A MINE .,..,.,. 3 

THANKFUL BLOSSOM : A ROMANCE OF THE JERSEYS . . .128 

THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN 1 92 

JEFF BRIGGS'S LOVE STORY 252 

CONDENSED NOVELS. 

MUCK- A-MUCK : A MODERN INDIAN NOVEL .... 339 

SELINA SEDILIA 347 

THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN 356 

MISS MIX , 364 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY : A NAVAL OFFICER . . , . 375 

CfUY HEAVYSTONE ; OR, ** ENTIRE:" A MUSCULAR NOVEL . 385 

JOHN JENKINS ; OR, THE SMOKER REFORMED .... 393 

FANTINE. AFTER THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO . . . 399 

•'LAFEMME." AFTER THE FRENCH OF M. MICHELET . . 405 



viii Contents, 

PAGtt 

THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD 4IO 

N N : BEING A NOVEL IN THE FRENCH PARAGRAPHIC STYLE . 416 

NO TITLE 421 

HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES . . . , . . 430 
LOTHAW ; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN 

SEARCH OF A RELIGION 44 1 

THE HAUNTED MAN : A CHRISTMAS STORY .... 452 
THE HOODLUM BAND J OR, THE BOY CHIEF, THE INFANT 

POLITICIAN, AND THE PIRATE PRODIGY .... 461 



STORIES. 



VOL. V. 



Cfie ©tors of a 9@me» 

CHAPTER I. 

WHO SOUGHT IT. 

It was a steep trail leading over the Mofiterey Coast 
Range. Concho was very tired, Concho was very dusty, 
Concho was very much disgusted. To Concho's mind 
there was but one relief for these insurmountable diffi- 
culties, and that lay in a leathern bottle slung over the 
machillas of his saddle. Concho raised the bottle to his 
lips, took a long draught, made a wry face, and ejaculated — 

« Carajo ! " 

It appeared that the bottle did not contain aguardiente, 
but had lately been filled in a tavern near Tres Pinos by an 
Irishman who sold bad American whisky under that 
pleasing Castilian title. Nevertheless Concho had already 
nearly emptied the bottle, and it fell back against the saddle 
as yellow and flaccid as his own cheeks. Thus reinforced, 
Concho turned to look at the valley behind him, from which 
he had climbed since noon. It was a sterile waste bordered 
here and there by arable fringes and valdas of meadow land, 
but in the main dusty, dry, and forbidding. His eye rested 
for a moment on a low white cloud-line on the eastern 
horizon, but so mocking and unsubstantial that it seemed 
to come and go as he gazed. Concho struck his forehead 
and winked his hot eyelids. Was it the Sierras or the 
cursed American whisky ? 



4 The Story of a Mine. 

Again he recommenced the ascent. At times the half- 
worn, half-visible trail became utterly lost in the bare black 
out-crop of the ridge, but his sagacious mule soon found it 
again, until, stepping upon a loose boulder, she slipped and 
fell. In vain Concho tried to Hft her from out the ruin of 
camp kettles, prospecting pans and picks; she remained 
quietly recumbent, occasionally raising her head as if to 
contemplatively glance over the arid plain below. Then 
he had recourse to useless blows. Then he essayed pro- 
fanity of a secular kind, such as "Assassin," '* Thief," 
"Beast with a pig's head," "Food for the bull's horns," 
but with no effect. 

Then he had recourse to the curse ecclesiastic — 

"Ah, Judas Iscariot ! is it thus, renegade and traitor, 
thou leavest me, thy master, a league from camp, and supper 
waiting ? Stealer of the Sacrament, get up ! " 

Still no effect. Concho began to feel uneasy; never before 
had a mule of pious lineage failed to respond to this kind 
of exhortation. He made one more desperate attempt — 

"Ah, defiler of the altar! lie not there! Look!" he 
threw his hand into the air, extending the fingers suddenly. 
" Behold, fiend ! I exorcise thee ! Ha ! tremblest ! Look 
but a little now — see ! Apostate 1 I— •! — excommunicate 
thee— Mula 1 " 

" What are you kicking up such a devil of a row down 
there for ? " said a gruff voice from the rocks above. 

Concho shuddered. Could it be that the devil was really 
going to fly away with his mule ? He dared not look up. 

"Come now," continued the voice, "you just let up on 
that mule, you d— d old Greaser. Don't you see she's 
slipped her shoulder?" 

Alarmed as Concho was at the information, he could not 
help feeling to a certain extent relieved. She was lamed, 
but had not lost her standing as ^ good CathoHc. 



The Story of a Mi7ie. 5 

He ventured to lift his eyes. A stranger — an Americano 
from his dress and accent — was descending the rocks 
toward him. He was a slight-built man with a dark, smooth 
face, that would have been quite commonplace and inex- 
pressive but for his left eye, in which all that was villanous 
in him apparently centred. Shut that eye, and you had 
the features and expression of an ordinary man ; cover up 
those features, and the eye shone out like Eblis' own. 
Nature had apparently observed this too, and had, by a 
paralysis of the nerve, ironically dropped the corner of the 
upper lid over it like a curtain, laughed at her handiwork, 
and turned him loose to prey upon a credulous world. 

" What are you doing here ? " said the stranger after he 
had assisted Concho in bringing the mule to her feet, and 
a helpless halt. 

" Prospecting, Senor." 

The stranger turned his respectable right eye toward 
Concho, while his left looked unutterable scorn and wicked- 
ness over the landscape. 

" Prospecting, what for ? " 

"Gold and silver, Seiior; yet for silver most." 

"Alone?" 

" Of us there are four." 

The stranger looked around. 

" In camp — a league beyond," explained the Mexican. 

" Found anything ? " 

" Of this — much." Concho took from his saddle-bags a 
lump of greyish iron ore, studded here and there with star 
points of pyrites. The stranger said nothing, but his eye 
looked a diabolical suggestion. 

"You are lucky, friend Greaser." 

" Eh ? " 

" It is silver." 

" How know you this ? " 



6 The Story of a Mine, 

" It is my business. I'm a metallurgist." 

" And you can say what shall be silver and what is not." 

" Yes — see here ! " The stranger took from his saddle- 
bags a little leather case containing some half-dozen phials. 
One, enwrapped in dark-blue paper, he held up to 
Concho. 

" This contains a preparation of silver." 

Concho's eyes sparkled, but he looked doubtingly at the 
stranger. 

" Get me some water in your pan." 

Concho emptied his water bottle in his prospecting pan 
and handed it to the stranger. He dipped a dried blade 
of grass in the bottle, and then let a drop fall from its tip 
in the water. The water remained unchanged. 

" Now throw a little salt in the water," said the stranger. 

Concho did so. Instantly a white film appeared on the 
surface, and presently the whole mass assumed a milky hue. 

Concho crossed himself hastily, " Mother of God, it is 
magic ! " 

" It is chloride of silver, you darned fool." 

Not content with this cheap experiment, the stranger then 
took Concho's breath away by reddening some litmus paper 
with the nitrate, and then completely knocked over the 
simple Mexican by restoring its colour by dipping it in the 
salt water. 

" You shall try me this," said Concho, offering his iron 
ore to the stranger ; " you shall use the silver and the 
salt." 

" Not so fast, my friend," answered the stranger. " In the 
first place this ore must be melted, and then a chip taken 
and put in shape like this ; and that is worth something, 
my Greaser cherub. No, sir, a man don't spend all his 
youth at Freiburg and Heidelberg to throw away his science- 
gratuitously on the first Greaser he meets." 



The Story of a Mine. 7 

" It will cost — eh — how much ! " said the Mexican 
eagerly. 

"Well, I should say it would take about a hundred 
dollars and expenses to — to — find silver in that ore. But 
once you've got it there, you're all right for tons of it." 

"You shall have it," said the now excited Mexican. 
"You shall have it of us — the four! You shall come to 
our camp and shall melt it — and show the silver and— 
enough ! Come," and in his feverishness he clutched the 
hand of his companion as if to lead him forth at once. 

" What are you going to do with your mule ? " said the 
stranger. 

" True, Holy Mother ! what, indeed ? " 

" Look yer," said the stranger, with a grim smile, " she 
won't stray far, I'll be bound. I've an extra pack-mule 
above here ; you can ride on her, and lead me into camp, 
and to-morrow come back for your beast." 

Poor honest Concho's heart sickened at the prospect of 
leaving behind the tired servant he had objurgated so 
strongly a moment before, but the love of gold was upper- 
most. " I will come back to thee, little one, to-morrow, a 
rich man. Meanwhile, wait thou here, patient one. Adios, 
thou smallest of mules, AdiosI^* 

And seizing the stranger's hand he clambered up the 
rocky ledge until they reached the summit. Then the 
stranger turned and gave one sweep of his malevolent eye 
over the valley. 

Wherefore, in after years, when their story was related, 
with the devotion of true Catholic pioneers, they named 
the mountain " La Canada de la Visitacion del Diablo^'' 
" The Gulch of the Visitation of the Devil," the same being 
now the boundary lines of one of the famous Mexican land 
grants. 



8 The Story of a Mine. 

CHAPTER II. 

WHO FOUND IT. 

Concho was so impatient to reach the camp and deliver 
his good news to his companions that more than once the 
stranger was obhged to command him to slacken his pace. 
'* Is it not enough, you infernal Greaser, that you lame your 
own mule, but you must try your hand on mine ? Or am I 
to put Jinny down among the expenses ? " he added with 
a grin and a shght lifting of his baleful eyelid. 

When they had ridden a mile along the ridge they began 
to descend again toward the valley. Vegetation now spar- 
ingly bordered the trail, clumps of chimisal, an occasional 
Manzanita bush, and one or two dwarfed? "buckeyes" 
rooted their way between the interstices of the black-grey 
rock. Now and then, in crossing some dry gully worn by 
the overflow of winter torrents from above, the greyish rock 
gloom was relieved by dull red and brown masses of colour, 
and almost every overhanging rock bore the mark of a 
miner's pick. Presently, as they rounded the curving flank 
of the mountain, from a rocky bench below them, a thin 
ghost-like stream of smoke seemed to be steadily drawn by 
invisible hands into the invisible ether. " It is the camp," 
said Concho gleefully ; " I will myself forward to prepare 
them for the stranger ; " and before his companion could 
detain him he had disappeared at a sharp canter around 
the curve of the trail. 

Left to himself, the stranger took a more leisurely pace, 
which left him ample time for reflection. Scamp as he 
was, there was something in the simple credulity of poor 
Concho that made him uneasy. Not that his moral con- 
sciousness was touched, but he feared that Concho's 
companions might, knowing Concho's simplicity, instantly 



The Story of a Mine, 9 

suspect him of trading upon it. He rode on in a deep study. 
Was he reviewing his past life ? A vagabond by birth and 
education, a swindler by profession, an outcast by reputa- 
tion, without absolutely turning his back upon respectability, 
he had trembled on the perilous edge of criminality ever 
since his boyhood. He did not scruple to cheat these 
Mexicans, they were a degraded race ; and for a moment 
he felt almost an accredited agent of progress and civilisa- 
tion. We never really understand the meaning of enlighten- 
ment until we begin to use it aggressively. 

A few paces farther on four figures appeared in the now 
gathering darkness of the trail. The stranger quickly recog- 
nised the beaming smile of Concho, foremost of the- party. 
A quick glance at the faces of the others satisfied him that, 
while they lacked Concho's good humour, they certainly did 
not surpass him in intellect. " Pedro " was a stout vaquero. 
" Manuel " was a slim half-breed and ex-convert of the 
Mission of San Carmel, and " Miguel " a recent butcher of 
Monterey. Under the benign influences of Concho that 
suspicion with which the ignorant regard strangers died 
away, and the whole party escorted the stranger — ^who had 
given his name as Mr. Joseph Wiles — to their camp-fire. 
So anxious were they to begin their experiments that even 
the instincts of hospitality were forgotten, and it was not 
until Mr. Wiles — now known as " Don Jose " — sharply re- 
minded them that he wanted some " grub," that they came 
to their senses. When the frugal meal oi tortillas, frijolesy 
salt pork, and chocolate was over, an oven was built of the 
dark red rock brought from the ledge before them, and an 
earthenware jar, glazed by some peculiar local process, 
tiglitly fitted over it, and packed with clay and sods. A 
fire was speedily built of pine boughs continually brought 
from a wooded ravine below, and in a few moments the 
furnace was in full blast. Mr. Wiles did not participate in 



TO The Story of a Mine. 

these active preparations, except to give occasional direc- 
tions between his teeth, which were contemplatively fixed 
over a clay pipe as he lay comfortably on his back on the 
gromid. Whatever enjoyment the rascal may have had in 
their useless labours he did not show it, but it was observed 
that his left eye often followed the broad figure of the ex- 
vaquero, Pedro, and often dwelt on that worthy's beetling 
brows and half-savage face. Meeting that baleful glance 
once Pedro growled out an oath, but could not resist a 
hideous fascination that caused him again and again to 
seek it. 

The scene was weird enough without Wiles' eye to add 
to its wild picturesqueness. The mountain towered above 
— a heavy Rembrandtish mass of black shadow — sharply 
cut here and there against a sky so inconceivably remote 
that the world-sick soul must have despaired of ever reach- 
ing so far, or of climbing its steel-blue walls. The stars 
were large, keen, and brilliant, but cold and steadfast. They 
did not dance nor twinkle in their adamantine setting. The 
furnace fire painted the faces of the men an Indian red, 
glanced on brightly coloured blanket and scrape, but was 
eventually caught and absorbed in the waiting shadows of 
the black mountain, scarcely twenty feet from the furnace 
door. The low, half-sung, half-whispered foreign speech of 
the group, the roaring of the furnace, and the quick, sharp 
yelp of a coyote on the plain below, were the only sounds 
that broke the awful silence of the hills. 

It was almost dawn when it was announced that the ore 
had fused. And it was high time, for the pot was slowly 
sinking into the fast-crumbling oven. Concho uttered a 
jubilant " God and Liberty," but Don Jose Wiles bade him 
be silent and bring stakes to support the pot. Then Don 
Jos6 bent over the seething mass. It was for a moment 
only. But in that moment this accomplished. metallurgist, 



The Story of a Mine. i r 

Mr. Joseph Wiles, had quietly dropped a silver half dollar 
into the pot ! 

Then he charged them to keep up the fires and went to 
sleep — all but one eye. 

Dawn came with dull beacon fires on the near hill-tops, 
and far in the east, roses over the Sierran snow. Birds 
twittered in the alder fringes a mile below, and the creak- 
ing of waggon wheels — the waggon itself a mere fleck of dust 
in the distant road — was heard distinctly. Then the melt- 
ing-pot was solemnly broken by Don Jose, and the glowing 
incandescent mass turned into the road to cool. 

And then the metallurgist chipped a small fragment from 
the mass and pounded it, and chipped another smaller 
piece and pounded that, and then subjected it to acid, and 
then treated it to a salt bath which became at once milky, 
and at last produced a white something — mirabile dictu ! — 
two cents' worth of silver ! 

Concho shouted with joy, the rest gazed at each other 
doubtingly and distrustfully ; companions in poverty, they 
began to diverge and suspect each other in prosperity. 
Wiles' left eye glanced ironically from the one to the 
other. 

" Here is the hundred dollars, Don Jose," said Pedro, 
handing the gold to Wiles with a decidedly brusque intima- 
tion that the services and presence of a stranger were no 
longer required. 

Wiles took the money with a gracious smile and a wink 
that sent Pedro's heart into his boots, and was turning away, 
when a cry from Manuel stopped him. " The pot — the pot 
— it has leaked ! look ! behold ! see ! " 

He had been cleaning away the crumbled fragments of 
the furnace to get ready for breakfast, and had disclosed a 
shining pool of quicksilver ! 

Wiles started, cast a rapid glance around the group, saw 



12 The Story of a Mine. 

in a flash that the metal was unknown to them, and then 
said quietly — 

" It is not silver." 

*' Pardon, Seiior ; it is, and still molten." 

Wiles stooped and ran his fingers through the shining metal. 

" Mother of God ! what is it then, m.agic?" 

"No, only base metal." But then Concho, emboldened 
by Wiles' experiment, attempted to seize a handful of the 
glittering mass, that instantly broke through his fingers in a 
thousand tiny spherules, and even sent a few globules up 
his shirt sleeves, until he danced around in mingled fear and 
childish pleasure. 

" And it is not worth the taking? " queried Pedro of Wiles. 

Wiles' right eye and bland face were turned toward the 
speaker, but his malevolent left was glancing at the dull 
red-brown rock on the hill-side. 

" No ! " — and, turning abruptly away, he proceeded to 
saddle his mule. 

Manuel, Miguel, and Pedro, left to themselves, began 
talking earnestly together; while Concho, now mindful of 
his crippled mule, made his way back to the trail where he 
had left her. But she was no longer there. Constant to 
her master through beatings and bullyings, she could not 
stand incivility and inattention. There are certain quaUties 
of the sex that belong to all animated nature. 

Inconsolable, footsore, and remorseful, Concho returned 
to the camp and furnace, three miles across the rocky ridge. 
But what was his astonishment on arriving to find the place 
deserted of man, mule, and camp equipage. Concho called 
aloud. Only the echoing rocks grimly answered him. Was 
it a trick ? Concho tried to laugh. Ah — yes — a good one 
— a joke — no — no — they had deserted him ! And then 
poor Concho bowed his head to the ground, and, falling 
on his face, cried as if his honest heart would break. 



The Story of a Mine. 1 3 

The tempest passed in a moment ; it was not Concho's 
nature to suffer long nor brood over an injury. As he 
raised his head again his eye caught the shimmer of the 
quicksilver — that pool of merry antic metal that had so de- 
lighted him an hour before. In a few moments Concho 
was again disporting with it ; chasing it here and there, 
rolling it in his palms, and laughing with boylike glee at its 
elusive freaks and fancies. "Ah, sprightly one — skipjack — 
there thou goest — come here. This way — now I have thee, 
little one — come muchacha — come and kiss me," until he had 
quite forgotten the defection of his companions. And even 
when he shouldered his sorry pack he was fain to carry his 
playmate away with him in his empty leathern flask. 

And yet I fancy the sun looked kindly on him as he 
strode cheerily down the black mountain side, and his step 
was none the less free nor light that he carried with him 
neither the silver nor the crime of his late comrades. 



CHAPTER III. 

WHO CLAIMED IT. 

The fog had already closed in on Monterey and was now 
rolling, a white, billowy sea, above, that soon shut out the 
blue breakers below. Once or twice in descending the 
mountain Concho had overhung the cliff and looked down 
upon the curving horseshoe of a bay below him, distant 
yet many miles. Earlier in the afternoon he had seen the 
gilt cross on the whitefaced Mission flare in the sunlight, 
but now all was gone. By the time he reached the highway 
of the town it was quite dark, and he plunged into the first 
fonda at the wayside, and endeavoured to forget his woes 
and his weariness in aguardiente. But Concho's head ached, 
and his back ached, and he was so generally distressed that 



14 The Story of a Mine. 

he bethought him of a medico — an American doctor — lately 
come into the town, who had once treated Concho and his 
mule with apparently the same medicine and after the same 
heroic fashion. Concho reasoned, not illogically, that if he 
were to be physicked at all he ought to get the worth of his 
money. The grotesque extravagance of life, of fruit and 
vegetable, in California was inconsistent with infinitesimal 
doses. In Concho^s -previous illness the Doctor had given 
him a dozen 4-gr. quinine powders. The following day the 
grateful Mexican walked into the Doctor's office — cured. 
The Doctor was gratified until, on examination, it appeared 
that to save trouble, and because his memory was poor, 
Concho had taken all the powders in one dose. The 
Doctor shrugged his shoulders and — altered his practice. 

"Well," said Dr. Guild, as Concho sank down ex- 
haustedly in one of the Doctor's two chairs, " what now ? 
Have you been sleeping again in the tule marshes, or 
are you upset with commissary whisky ? Come, have it 
out." 

But Concho declared that the devil was in his stomach, 
that Judas Iscariot had possessed himself of his spine, that 
imps were in his forehead, and that his feet had been 
scourged by Pontius Pilate. 

"That means 'blue mass,'" said the Doctor. And 
gave it to him, a bolus as large as a musket ball and as 
heavy. 

Concho took it on the spot and turned to go. 

" I have no money, Senor Medico." 

"Never mind. It's only a dollar, the price of the 
medicine." 

Concho looked guilty at having gulped- down so much 
cash. Then he said timidly — 

" I have no money, but I have got here that which is 
fine and jolly. It is yours," and he handed over the 



The Story of a Mme. 1 5 

contents of the precious tin can he had brought with 
him. 

The Doctor took it, looked at the shivering volatile 
mass, and said, "Why, this is quicksilver !" 

Concho laughed, "Yes, very quick silver, so !" and he 
snapped his fingers to show its sprightliness. 

The Doctor's face grew earnest. "Where did you get 
this, Concho ? " he finally asked. 

" It ran from the pot in the mountains beyond." 

The Doctor looked incredulous. Then Concho related 
the whole story. 

" Could you find that spot again ? " 

" Madre de Dios^ yes. I have a mule there j may the 
devil fly away with her ! " 

" And you say your comrades saw this ? " 

« Why not ? " 

" And you say they afterwards left you — deserted you ? " 

" They did, ingrates ! " 

The Doctor arose and shut his office door. " Hark ye, 
Concho," he said, " that bit of medicine I gave you just 
now was worth a dollar. It was worth a dollar because 
the material of which it was composed was made from the 
stuff you have in that can — quicksilver or mercury. It is 
one of the most valuable of metals, especially in a gold- 
mining country. My good fellow, if you know where to 
find enough of it, your fortune is made." 

Concho rose to his feet. 

" Tell me, was the rock you built your furnace of, red ? " 

"Si, Seiior." 

" And brown." 

"Si, Senor." 

" And crumbled under the heat ? " 

"As to nothing." 

"And did you see much of this red rock ? " 



1,6 The Story of a Mine, 

, " The mountain mother is in travail with it." 

"Are you sure that your comrades have not taken 
possession of the mountain mother ? " 

"As how?" 

" By claiming its discovery under the mining laws, or by 
pre-emption ? " 

" They shall not." 

" But how will you. singlehanded, fight the four 1 for I 
doubt not your scientific friend has a hand in it." 

"I will fight." 

" Yes, my Concho ; but suppose I take the fight ofi" your 
hands. Now, here's a proposition : I will get half a dozen 
Americanos to go in with you. You will have to get money 
to work the mine — you will need funds. You shall share 
half with them. They will take the risk, raise the money, 
and protect you." 

" I see," said Concho, nodding his head and winking his 
eyes rapidly. " Bueno ! " 

"I will return in ten minutes," said the Doctor, taking 
his hat. 

He was as good as his word. In ten minutes he 
returned with six original locaters, a board of directors, a 
president, secretary, and a deed of incorporation of the 
" Blue Mass Quicksilver Mining Co." This latter was 
a delicate compliment to the Doctor, who was popu- 
lar. The President added to these necessary articles a 
revolver. 

" Take it," he said, handing over the weapon to Concho, 
" take it ; my horse is outside ; take that, ride like h — 1 
and hang on until we come ! " 

In another moment Concho was in the saddle. Then 
the raining director lapsed into the physician. 

" I hardly know," said Dr. Guild doubtfully, " if in your 
present condition you ought to travel. You have just 



The Story of a Mine, 1 7 

taken a powerful medicine," and the Doctor looked hypo- 
critically concerned. 

"Ah — the devil ! " laughed Concho -, ''what is the quick- 
silver that is in to that which is out ? Hoopa la ! Mula ! " 
and with a clatter of hoofs and jingle of spurs, he was 
presently lost in the darkness. 

"You were none too soon, gentlemen/' said the American 
alcalde, as he drew up before the Doctor's door ; " another 
company has just been incorporated for the same location, 
I reckon." 

"Who are they?" 

" Three Mexicans : Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel, headed 
by that d — d cockeyed Sydney Duck, Wiles." 

" Are they here ? " 

" Manuel and Miguel only. The others are over at Tres 
Pinos lally-gagging Roscommon and trying to rope him in 
to pay off their whisky bills at his grocery." 

" If that's so we needn't start before sunrise, for they're 
sure to get roaring drunk." 

And this legitimate successor of the grave Mexican 
alcaldes, having thus delivered his impartial opinion, rode 
away. 

Meanwhile, Concho the redoubtable, Concho the fortu- 
nate, spared neither riata nor spur. The way was dark, the 
trail obscure and at times even dangerous, and Concho, 
familiar as he was with these mountain fastnesses, often 
regretted his surefooted " Francisquita." " Care not, O 
Concho," he would say to himself, " 'tis but a little while, 
only a Httle while, and thou shalt have another Francis- 
quita to bless thee. EH, skipjack, there was fine music to 
thy dancing. A dollar for an ounce — 'tis as good as silver, 
and merrier." Yet for all his good spirits he kept a sharp 
look-out at certain bends of the mountain trail ; not foi 
assassins or brigands, for Concho was physically courageous, 

VOL. v. B 



1 8 The Story of a Mine, 

but for the Evil One, who, in various forms, was said to 
lurk in the Santa Cruz Range, to the great discomfort of 
all true Catholics. He recalled the incident of Ignacio, 
a muleteer of the Franciscan Friars, who, stopping at the 
" Angelus " to repeat the " Credo," saw Luzbel plainly in the 
likeness of a monstrous grizzly bear, mocking him by sitting 
on his haunches and lifting his paws, clasped together, as 
if in prayer. Nevertheless, with one hand grasping his 
reins and his rosary, and the other clutching his whisky 
flask and revolver, he fared on so excellently that he 
reached the summit as the earlier streaks of dawn were 
outlining the far-off Sierran peaks. Tethering his horse on 
a strip of tableland, he descended cautiously afoot until he 
reached the bench, the wall of red rock, and the crumbled 
and dismantled furnace. It was as he had left it that 
morning j there was no trace of recent human visitation. 
Revolver in hand, Concho examined every cave, gully, and 
recess, peered behind trees, penetrated copses of buckeye 
and Manzanita, and listened. There was no sound but 
the faint soughing of the wind over the pines below him. 
For a while he paced backward and forward with a vague 
sense of being a sentinel, but his mercurial nature soon 
rebelled against this monotony, and soon the fatigues of 
the day began to tell upon him. Recourse to his whisky 
flask only made him the drowsier, until at last he was fain 
to lie down and roll himself up tightly in his blanket. The 
next moment he was sound asleep. 

His horse neighed twice from the summit, but Concho 
heard him not. Then the brush crackled on the ledge 
above him, a small fragment of rock rolled near his feet; 
but he stirred not. And then two black figures were out- 
lined on the crags beyond. 

"St-t-t !" whispered avoice. "There is one lying beside the 
furnace." The speech was Spanish, but the voice was Wiles. 



The Story of a Mine. 19 

The other figure crept cautiously to the edge of the 
crag and looked over. " It is Concho, the imbecile," said 
Pedro contemptuously. 

" But if he should not be alone, or if he should waken ? " 

" I will watch and wait. Go you and affix the notifica- 
tion." 

Wiles disappeared. Pedro began to creep down the face 
of the rocky ledge, supporting himself by chimisal and 
brushwood. 

The next moment Pedro stood beside the unconscious 
man. Then he looked cautiously around. The figure of 
his companion was lost in the shadow of the rocks above ; 
only a slight crackle of brush betrayed his whereabouts. 
Suddenly Pedro flung his serape over the sleeper's head, 
and then threw his powerful frame and tremendous weight 
full upon Concho's upturned face, while his strong arms 
clasped the blanket^pinioned limbs of his victim. There 
was a momentary upheaval, a spasm, and a struggle ; but 
the tightly-roUed blanket clung to the unfortunate man like 
cerements. 

There was no noise, no outcry, no sound of struggle. 
There was nothing to be seen but the peaceful, prostrate 
figures of the two men darkly outlined on the ledge. They 
might have been sleeping in each other's arms. In the 
black silence the stealthy tread of Wiles in the bush above 
was distinctly audible. 

Gradually the struggles grew fainter. Then a whisper 
from the crags — 

*' I can't see you. What are you doing ? " 

<*Watching!" 

« Sleeps he?" 

" He sleeps ! " 

"Soundly?" 

" Soundly." 



20 The Story of a Mine. 

" After the manner of the dead ? " 

" After the fashion of the dead ! " 

The last tremor had ceased. Pedro rose as Wiles 
descended. 

" All is ready," said Wiles j " you are a witness of my 
placing the notifications ? " 

*'I am a witness." 

" But of this one ? " pointing to Concho. '' Shall we 
leave him here ? " 

"A drunken imbecile — why not ? " 

Wiles turned his left eye on the speaker. They chanced 
to be standing nearly in the same attitude they had stood 
the preceding night. Pedro uttered a cry and an impreca. 
tion, " Carramba ! Take your devil's eye from me ! What 
see you ? Eh — what ? " 

"Nothing, good Pedro," said Wiles, turning his bland 
right cheek to Pedro. The infuriated and half-frightened 
ex-vaquero returned the long knife he had half drawn from 
its sheath, and growled surlily — 

" Go on, then ! But keep thou on that side and I will on 
this." And so, side by side, listening, watching, distrustful 
of all things, but mainly of each other, they stole back and 
up into those shadows from which they might have been 
evoked. 

A half hour passed, in which the east brightened, 
flashed, and again melted into gold. And then the sun 
came up haughtily, and a fog that had stolen across the 
summit in the night arose and fled up the mountain side, 
tearing its white robes in its guilty haste, and leaving them 
fluttering from tree and crag and scar. A thousand tiny 
blades, nestling in the crevices of rocks, nurtured in storms, 
and rocked by the trade-winds, stretched their wan and 
feeble arms toward him ; but Concho the strong, Concho 
the brave, Concho the lighthearted, spake not nor stirred. 



The Story of a Mine. 2 1 



CHAPTER IV. 

WHO TOOK IT. 

There was persistent neighing in the summit. Concho's 
horse wanted his breakfast. 

This protestation reached the ears of a party ascending 
the mountain from its western face. To one of the party 
it was famihar. 

" Why, blank it all, that's Chiquita. That d— d Mexi- 
can's lying drunk somewhere," said the President of the B, 
M. Co. 

" I don't like the look of this at all," said Dr. Guild, as 
they rode up beside the indignant animal. "If it had been 
an American it might have been carelessness, but no 
Greaser ever forgets his beast. Drive ahead, boys ; we 
may be too late." 

In half an hour they came in sight of the ledge below, 
the crumbled furnace, and the motionless figure of Concho, 
wrapped in a blanket, lying prone in the sunlight. 

" I told you so — drunk," said the President. 

The Doctor looked grave, but did not speak. They dis- 
mounted and picketed their horses. Then crept on all 
fours to the ledge above the furnace. There was a cry 
from Secretary Gibbs, " Look yer. Some fellar has been 
jumping us, boys. See these notices." 

There were two notices on canvas affixed to the rock, 
claiming the ground, and signed by Pedro, Manuel, 
Miguel, Wiles, and Roscommon. 

" This was done, Doctor, while your trustworthy Greaser 
locater — d — n him — lay there drunk. What's to be done 
now ?" 

But the Doctor was making his way to the unfortunate 



2 2 The Story of a Mine, 

cause of their defeat lying there quite mute to their re- 
proaches. The others followed him. 

The Doctor knelt beside Concho, unrolled him, placed 
his hand upon his waist, his ear over his heart, and then 
said — 

*' Dead." 

*' Of course. He got medicine of you last night. This 
comes of your d — d heroic practice." 

But the Doctor was too much occupied to heed the 
speakers raillery. He had peered into Concho's protu- 
berant eye, opened his mouth, and gazed at the swollen 
tongue, and then suddenly rose to his feet. 

" Tear down those notices, boys, but keep them. Put 
up your own. Don't be alarmed, you will not be interfered 
with, for here is murder added to robbery." 

" Murder ! '^ 

" Yes," said the Doctor excitedly, " I'll take my oath on 
any inquest that this man was strangled to death. He was 
surprised while asleep. Look here." He pointed to the 
revolver still in Concho's stiffening hand, which the mur- 
dered man had instantly cocked, but could not use in the 
struggle. 

" That's so," said the President, " no man goes to sleep 
with a cocked revolver. What's to be done ? " 

*' Everything," said the Doctor. " This deed was com- 
mitted within the last two hours ; the body is still warm. 
The murderer did not come our way, or we should have 
met him on the trail. He is, if anywhere, between here and 
Tres Pinos." 

" Gentlemen," said the President with a slight prepara- 
tory and half-judicial cough, '' two of you will stay here and 
stick ! The others will follow me to Tres Pinos. The law 
has been outraged. You understand the Court ! " 

By some odd influence the little group of half-cynical. 



The Story of a Mine. 23 

half-trifling, and wholly reckless men had become suddenly 
sober, earnest citizens. They said, " Go on," nodded their 
heads, and betook themselves to their horses. 

" Had we not better wait for the inquest and swear out 
a warrant ? " said the Secretary cautiously. 

" How many men have we ? " 

" Five ! " 

" Then," said the President, summing up the Revised 
Statutes of the State of California in one strong sentence ; 
*' then we don't want no d — d warrant." 



CHAPTER V. 

WHO HAD A LIEN ON IT. 

It was high noon at Tres Pinos. The three pines from 
which it gained its name, in the dusty road and hot air, 
seemed to smoke from their balsamic spires. There was 
a glare from the road, a glare from the sky, a glare from 
the rocks, a glare from the white canvas roofs of the few 
shanties and cabins which made up the village. There was 
even a glare from the unpainted red-wood boards of Ros- 
common's grocery and tavern, and a tendency on the warp- 
ing floor of the veranda to curl up beneath the feet of the 
intruder. A few mules, near the watering-trough, had shrunk 
within the scant shadow of the corral. 

The grocery business of Mr. Roscommon, although ade- 
quate and sufficient for the village, was not exhausting nor 
overtaxing to the proprietor ; the refilling of the pork and 
flour barrel of the average miner was the work of a brief 
hour on Saturday nights, but the daily replenishment of the 
average miner with whisky was arduous and incessant. 
Roscommon spent more time behind his bar than his 
grocer's counter. Add to this the fact that a long shed- 



24 Th% Story of a Mine. 

like extension or wing bore the legend, " Cosmopolitan 
Hotel, Board or Lodging by the Day or Week. M. Ros- 
common," and you got an idea of the variety of the pro- 
prietor's functions. The "hotel," however, was more 
directly under the charge of Mrs. Roscommon, a lady of 
thirty years, strong, truculent^ and goodhearted. 

Mr. Roscommon had early adopted the theory that most 
of his customers were insane, and were to be alternately 
bullied or placated, as the case might be. Nothing that 
occurred, no extravagance of speech or act, ever ruffled 
his equilibrium, which was as dogged and stubborn as it 
was outwardly calm. When not serving liquors, or in the 
interval while it was being drunk, he was always wiping his 
counter with an exceedingly dirty towel, or, indeed, any- 
thing that came handy. Miners, noticing this purely per- 
functory habit, occasionally supplied him slyly with articles 
inconsistent with their service — fragments of their shirts 
and underclothing, floursacking, tow, and once with a 
flannel petticoat of his wife's, stolen from the line in the 
backyard. Roscommon would continue his wiping without 
looking up, but yet conscious of the presence of each 
customer. "And it's not another dhrop ye'll git, Jack 
Brown, until ye've wiped out the black score that stands 
agin ye." "And it's there ye are, darlint, and it's here's 
the bottle that's been lukin' for ye sins Saturday." " And 
fwhot hev ye done with the last I sent ye, ye divil of a 
M'Corkle, and here's me back that's bruk entoirely wid 
dipping intil the pork barl to give ye the best sides — 
and ye spending yur last cint on a tare into Gilroy. 
Whist ! and if it's fer foighting ye are, boys, there's an 
illigant bit o' sod'beyant the corral, and its maybe meself '11 
come out wid a shtick and be sociable." 

On this particular day, however, Master Roscommon 
was not in his usual spirits, and when the clatter of horses' 



The Story of a Mine. 25 

hoofs before the door announced the approach of strangers, 
he absolutely ceased wiping his counter, and looked up, as 
Dr. Guild, the President and Secretary of the new com- 
pany, strode into the shop. 

" We are looking," said the President, " for a man by 
the name of Wiles, and three Mexicans known as Pedro, 
Manuel, and Miguel." 

" Ye are ? " 

"We are!" 

" Faix, and I hope ye'll foind 'em. And if ye'll git from 
*em the score Pve got agin 'em, darlint, Til add a blessing 
to it." 

There was a laugh at this from the bystanders, who, 
somehow, resented the intrusion of these strangers. 

" I fear you will find it no laughing matter, gentlemen," 
said Dr. Guild a litde stiffly, "when I tell you that a 
murder has been committed, and the men I am seeking 
within an hour of that murder put up that notice signed 
by their names," and Dr. Guild displayed the paper. 

There was a breathless silence among the crowd as they 
eagerly pressed around the Doctor, Only Roscommon 
kept on wiping his counter. 

" You will observe, gentlemen, that the name of Ros- 
common also appears on this paper as one of the original 
locaters." 

"And sure, darlint," said Roscommon without looking up, 
if ye've no better ividince agin them boys then you have 
forninst me, it's home ye'd bether be riding to wanst. For 
it's meself as hasn't sturred fut out of the store the day and 
noight — more betoken as the boys I've sarved kin testify." 

" That's so, Ross," chorused the crowd ; " we've been 
running the old man all night." 

"Then how comes your name on this paper?" 

" Oh, murdher ! will ye listin to him, boys. As if every 



26 The Story of a Mine. 

felly that owed me a whisky bill didn't come to me and 
say, ' Ah, l\Iisther Roscommon,' or ' Moike,' as the case 
moight be, sure it's an illigant sthrike I've made this day, 
and it's meself that has put down your name as an original 
locater, and yer fortune's made, Mr. Roscommon, and will 
yer fill me up another quart for the good luck betune you 
and me. Ah, but ask Jack Brown over yan if it isn't sick 
that I am of his original locations." 

The laugh that followed this speech, and its practical 
apphcation, convinced the party that they had blundered, 
that they could obtain no clue to the real culprits here, 
and that any attempt by threats would meet violent opposi- 
tion. Nevertheless the Doctor was persistent. 

" When di-d you see these men last ? " 

" When did I see them is it ? Bedad, what with sarvin' 
up the liquor and keeping me counters dry and swate I 
never see them at all." 

"That's so, Ross ! " chorused the crowd again, to whom 
the whole proceeding was delightfully farcical. 

" Then I can tell you, gentlemen," said the Doctor 
stiffly, "that they were in Monterey last night, that they 
did not return on that trail this morning, and that they 
must have passed here at daybreak." 

With these words, which the Doctor regretted as soon 
as delivered, the party rode away. 

Mr. Roscommon resumed his service and counterwiping. 
But late that night, when the bar was closed and the last 
loiterer summarily ejected, Mr. Roscommon, in the con- 
jugal privacy* of his chamber, produced a legal-looking 
paper. " Read it, Maggie, darlint \ for it's meself never 
had the larnin' nor the parts." 

Mrs. Roscommon took the paper. 

" Shure, it's law papers, making over some property to 
yis. O Moike ! ye havn't been spekilating ! " 



The Sto7y of a Mine. 27' 

" Whist ! and fwhotz that durty grey paper wid the sales 
and flourishes ? '' 

*' Faix, it bothers me intoirely. Shure it oin't in Eng- 
lish." 

" Whist ! Maggie, it's a Spanish grant ! " 

*' A Spanish grant ? O Moike, and what did ye giv for 
it?" 

Mr. Roscommon laid his finger beside his nose and said 
softly, "Whishky!" 



CHAPTER VI. 

HOW A GRANT WAS GOT FOR IT. 

While the Blue Mass Company, with more zeal than dis- 
cretion, were actively pursuing Pedro and Wiles over the 
road to Tres Pinos, Senores Miguel and Manuel were com- 
fortably seated in a fonda at Monterey, smoking cigarritos 
and discussing their late discovery. But they were in no 
better mood than their late companions, and it appeared 
from their conversation that in an evil moment they had 
sold out their interest in the alleged silver mine to Wiles 
and Pedro for a few hundred dollars, succumbing to what 
they were assured would be an active opposition on the 
part of the Americanos. The astute reader will easily^ 
understand that the accomplished Mr. Wiles did not 
inform them of its value as a quicksilver mine, although he 
was obliged to impart his secret to Pedro as a necessary 
accomplice and reckless coadjutor. That Pedro felt no 
qualms of conscience in thus betraying his two comrades 
may be inferred from his recent direct and sincere treat- 
ment of Concho ; and that he would, if occasion offered or 
policy made it expedient, as calmly obliterate Mr. Wiles — 
that gentleman himself never for a moment doubted. 



28 ^ The Story of a Mine. 

" If we had waited but a little he would have given 
more, this cockeye ! " regretted Manuel querulously. 

"Not 2.peso^' said Miguel firmly. 

" And why, my Miguel ? Thou knowest we could have 
worked the mine ourselves." 

"Good, and lost even that labour. Look you, little 
brother. Show to me now the Mexican that has ever 
made a real of a mine in California. How many, eh? 
None ! Not a one. Who owns the Mexican's mine, eh ? 
America7ios I Who takes money from the Mexican's 
mine ? Ainericanos. Thou remembrest Briones, who 
spent a gold mine to make a silver one? Who has the 
lands and house of Briones? Americanos! Who has 
the cattle of Briones? Aj?tericanos / Who has the mine 
of Briones ? Amei'icanos / Who has the silver Briones 
never found ? Amei'icanos ! Always the same ! For- 
ever ! Ah ! carramba ! " 

Then the Evil One evidently took it into his head and 
horns to worry and toss these men — comparatively inno- 
cent as they were — still further, for a purpose. For 
presently to them appeared one Victor Garcia, whilom a 
clerk 01 the Ayuntemiento, who rallied them over aguar- 
diente, and told them the story of the quicksilver discovery, 
and the two mining claims taken out that night by Concho 
and Wiles. Whereat Manuel exploded with profanity and 
burnt blue with sulphurous malediction ; but Miguel, the 
recent ecclesiastic, sat livid and thoughtful. Finally 
came a pause in Manuel's bombardment, and something 
like this conversation took place between the cooler 
actors — 

Miguel (thoughtfully). When was it thou didst petition 
lor lands in the valley, friend Victor? 

Victor (amazedly). Never ! It is a sterile waste. Am 
I a fool? 



The Story of a Mine. 29 

Miguel (softly). Thou didst. Of thy Governor, Michel- 
torena. I have seen the application. 

Victor (beginning to appreciate a rodential odor). Si ! 
I had forgotten. Art thou sure it was in the valley ? 

Miguel (persuasively). In the valley and up th.Qfalda.^ 

Victor (with decision). Certainly. Of a verity — the 
falda likewise. 

Miguel (eyeing Victor). And yet thou hadst not the 
grant. Painful is it that it should have been burned with 
the destruction of the other archives by the Americanos at 
Monterey. 

Victor (cautiously, feeling his way). Possibkfnente. 

Miguel. It might be wise to look into it. 

Victor (bluntly). As why ? 

Miguel. For our good and thine, friend Victor. We 
bring thee a discovery ; thou bringest us thy skill, thy 
experience, thy government knowledge — thy Custom.- 
House paper.t 

Manuel (breaking in drunkardly). But for what ? We 
are Mexicans. Are we not fated ? We shall lose. Who 
shall keep the Americanos off? 

Miguel. We shall take one American in ! Ha ! seest 
thou ? This American comrade shall bribe his courts, his 
corregidores. After a little he shall supply the men who 
invent the machine of steam, the mill, the furnace, eh ? 

Victor. But who is he — not to steal ? 

Miguel. He is that man of Ireland, a good Catholic at 
Tres Pinos. 

Victor and Manuel (omnes). Roscommon ? 
* Falda, or valda, i.e., that part of the skirt of a woman's robe 
that breaks upon the ground, and is also apphed to the final slope of a 
hill, from the angle that it makes upon the level plain. 

t Grants, applications, and official notifications, under the Spanish 
Government, vv'ere drawn on a stamped paper known as Custom- 
House paper. 



30 The Story of a Mine, 

Miguel. Of the same. We shall give him a share for 
the provisions, for the tools, for the aguardiente. It is of 
the Irish that the Americanos have great fear. It is of 
them that the votes are made, that the President is 
chosen. It is of him that they make the alcalde in San 
Francisco. And we are of the Church, like him. 

They said " Bueno" all together, and for the moment 
appeared to be upheld by a religious enthusiasm — a joint 
confession of faith that meant death, destruction, and 
possibly forgery, as against the men who thought other- 
wise. 

This spiritual harmony did away with all practical con- 
sideration and doubt. " I have a little niece," said Victor, 
" whose work with the pen is marvellous. If one says to 
her, * Carmen, copy me this, or the other one ' — even if it be 
copperplate — look you it is done, and you cannot know 
of which is the original. Madre de Dios ! the other day 
she makes me a rubric* of the Governor, Pio Pico — the 
same, identical. Thou knowest her, Miguel. She asked 
concerning thee yesterday." 

With the embarrassment of an underbred man, Miguel 
tried to appear unconcerned, but failed dismally. Indeed, 
I fear that the black eyes of Carmen had already done their 
perfect and accepted work, and had partly induced the 
apphcation for Victor's aid. He, however, dissembled so 
far as to ask — 

" But will she not know ? " 

*' She is a child." 

" But will she not talk ? " 

" Not if I say nay, and if thou — eh, Miguel ? " 
/ This bit of flattery — which, by the way, was a lie, for 
Victor's niece did not incline favourably to Miguel — had 

* The Spanish " rubric " is the complicated flourish attached tea 
signature, and is as individual and characteristic as the handwriting. 



The Story of a Mine. 31 

its effect. They shook hands over the table. " But," said 
Miguel, "what is to be done must be done now." "At 
the moment," said Victor, "and thou shalt see it done. 
Eh ! Does it content thee ? then come ! " 

Miguel nodded to Manuel. " We will return in an hour ; 
wait thou here." 

They filed out into the dark, irregular street. Fate led 
them to pass the office of Dr. Guild at the moment that 
Concho mounted his horse. The shadows concealed them 
from their rival, but they overheard the last injunctions of 
the President to the unlucky Concho. 

" Thou hearest ? " said Miguel, clutching his companion's 
arm. 

" Yes," said Victor. "But let him ride, my friend; in 
one hour we shall have that that shall arrive years before 
him," and with a complacent chuckle they passed unseen 
and unheard until, abruptly turning a corner, they stopped 
before a low adobe house. 

It had once been a somewhat pretentious dwelling, but 
had evidently followed the. fortunes of its late owner, Don 
Juan Briones, who had offered it as a last sop to the three- 
headed Cerberus that guarded the El Refugio Plutonian 
treasures, and who had swallowed it in a single gulp. It 
was in a very bad case. The furrows of its red-tiled roof 
looked as if they were the results of age and decrepitude. 
Its best room had a musty smell ; there was the dampness 
of deliquescence in its slow decay, but the Spanish Calir'or- 
nians were sensible architects, and its massive walls and 
partitions defied the earthquake thrill, and all the year 
round kept an even temperature within. 

Victor led Miguel through a low anteroom into a plainly 
furnished chamber, where Carmen sat painting. 

Now Mistress Carmen was a bit of a painter, in a pretty 
little way, \\ath all the vague longings of an artist, but with- 



32 The Story of a Mine, 

out, I fear, the artist's steadfast soul. She recognised 
beauty and form as a child might, without understanding 
their meaning, and somehow failed to make them even 
interpret her woman's moods, which surely were nature's 
too. So she painted everything with this innocent lust 
of the eye — flowers, birds, insects, landscapes, and figures 
— with a joyous fidelity, but no particular poetry. The 
bird never sang to her but one song, the flowers or trees 
spake but one language, and her skies never brightened 
except in colour. She came out strong on the Catholic 
saints, and would toss you up a cleanly-shaven Aloysius, 
sweetly destitute of expression, or a dropsical, lethargic 
Madonna that you couldn't have told from an old master, 
so bad it was. Her faculty of faithful reproduction even 
showed itself in fanciful lettering, and latterly in the imita- 
tion of rubrics and signatures. Indeed, with her eye for 
beauty of form she had always excelled in penmanship at 
the Convent, an accomplishment which the good Sisters 
held in great repute. 

In person she was petite^ with a still unformed girlish 
figure, perhaps a little too flat across the back, and with 
possibly a too great tendency to a boyish stride in walking. 
Her brow, covered by blueblack hair, was low and frank 
and honest; her eyes, a very dark hazel, were not particu- 
larly large, but rather heavily freighted in their melancholy 
lids with slipping passion ; her nose was of that unimpor- 
tant character which no man remembers ; her mouth was 
small and straight, her teeth white and regular. The whole 
expression of her face was piquancy that might be subdued 
by tenderness or made malevolent by anger. At present it 
was a salad in which the oil and vinegar were deftly com- 
bined. The astute feminine reader will of course under- 
stand that this is the ordinary superficial masculine criti- 
cism, and at once make up her mind both as to the char- 



The Story of a Mine. 12) 

acter of the young lady and the competency of the critic. 
I only know that / rather liked her. And her functions 
are somewhat important in this veracious history. 

She looked up, started to her feet, levelled her black 
brows at the intruder, but at a sign from her uncle, showed 
her white teeth and spake. 

It was only a sentence, and a rather common-place one 
at that ; but if she could have put her voice upon her can- 
vas she might have retrieved the Garcia fortunes. For it 
was so musical, so tender, so sympathising, so melodious, 
so replete with the graciousness of womanhood, that she 
seemed to have invented the language. And yet that 
sentence was only an exaggerated form of the "How d'ye 
do," whined out, doled out, lisped out, or shot out from the 
pretty mouths of my fair countrywomen. 

jMiguel admired the paintings. He was struck particu- 
larly with a crayon drawing of a mule — " Mother of God ! 
it is the mule itself — observe how it will not go." Then 
the crafty Victor broke in with, "But it is nothing to her 
writing ; look, you shall tell to me which is the handwriting 
of Pio Pico," and from a drawer in the secretary he drew 
forth two signatures. One was affixed to a yellowish paper, 
the other drawn on plain white foolscap. Of course Miguel 
ook the more modern one with lover-like gallantry. "It 
is this is genuine ! " Victor laughed triumphantly. Carmen 
echoed the laugh melodiously in childlike glee, and added, 
with a slight toss of her piquant head, " It is mine ! " The 
best of the sex will not refuse a just and overdue compli- 
ment from even the man they dislike. It's the principle 
they're after, not the sentiment. 

But Victor was not satisfied with this proof of his niece's 
skill. " Say to her," he demanded of Miguel, " what name 
thou lik'st and it shall be done before thee here." Miguel 
was not so much in love but he perceived the drift of 

VOL. v. c 



34 The Story of a Mine, 

Victor's suggestion, and remarked that the rubric of 
Governor Micheltorena was exceedingly complicated and 
difficult. " She shall do it ! " responded Victor, with 
decision. 

From a file of old departmental papers the Governor's 
signature and that involved rubric, which must have cost 
his late Excellency many youthful days of anxiety, was 
produced and laid before Carmen. 

Carmen took her pen in her hand, looked at the brownish 
looking document and then at the virgin whiteness of the 
foolscap before her. " But," she said, pouting prettily, " I 
should have to first paint this white paper brown. And it 
will absorb the ink more quickly than that. When I 
painted the San Antonio of the Mission San Gabriel, for 
Father Acolti, I had to put the decay in with my oils and 
brushes before the good Padre would accept it." 

The two scamps looked at each other. It was their 
supreme moment. " I think I have," said Victor, with 
assumed carelessness, " I think I have some of the old 
Custom-House paper." He produced from the secretary a 
sheet of brown paper with a stamp. " Try it on that." 

Carmen smiled with childish delight, tried it, and pro- 
duced a marvel ! " It is as magic," said Miguel, feigning 
to cross himself. 

Victor's role was more serious : he affected to be deeply 
touched; took the paper, folded it and placed it in his 
breast, " I shall make a good fool of Don Jose Castro," 
he said, " he will declare it is the Governor's own signature, 
for he was his friend ; but have a care. Carmen ! that you 
spoil it not by the opening of your red lips. When he is 
fooled I will tell him of this marvel — this niece of mine, 
and he shall buy her pictures. Eh, little one ? " and he 
gave her the avuncular caress, i.e., a pat of the hand on 
either cheek, and a kiss. Miguel envied him, but cupidity 



The Story of a Mine. 35 

out-generaled Cupid, and presently the conversation flagged, 
until a convenient recollection of Victor's — that himself 
and comrade were due at the Posada del Toros at 10 o'clock 
— gave them the opportunity to retire. 

But not without a chance shot from Carmen. " Tell to 
me," she said, half to Victor and half to Miguel, " what 
has chanced with Concho ? He was ever ready to bring 
to me flowers from the mountain, and insects and birds. 
Thou knowest how he would sit, O my uncle, and talk 
to me of the rare rocks he had seen, and the bears and 
the evil spirits, and now he comes no longer, my Concho ! 
How is this ? Nothing evil has befallen him, surely ? " and 
her drooping lids closed half-pathetically. 

Miguel's jealousy took fire. " He is drunk, Senorita, 
doubtless, and has forgotten not only thee, but mayhap his 
mule and pack ! It is his custom, ha ! ha ! " 

The red died out of Carmen's ripe lips, and she shut 
them together with a snap'Hke a steel purse. The dove 
had suddenly changed to a hawk ; the child-girl into an 
antique virago ; the spirit hitherto dimly outlined in her 
face, of some shrewish Garcia ancestress, came to the fore. 
She darted a quick look at her uncle, and then, with her little 
hands on her rigid hips, strode with two steps up to Miguel. 

*' Possibly, O Senor Miguel Dominguez Perez (a profound 
courtesy here), it is as thou sayest. Drunkard Concho 
may be ; but drunk or sober, he never turned his back on 
his friend — or — (the words grated a Httle here) — his enemy." 

Miguel would have replied, but Victor was ready. 
" Fool," he said, pinching his arm, " 'tis an old friend. 
And — and— the application is stih to be filled up. Are 
you crazy ? " 

But on this point Miguel was not, and with the revenge 
of a rival added to his other instincts, he permitted Victor 
to lead him away. 



36 The Story of a Mine. 

On their return to the fonda they found Master Manuel 
too far gone with aguardie?ite, and a general animosity to 
the average Americano, to be of any service. So they 
worked alone, with pen, ink and paper, in the stuffy, 
cigarrito-clouded back room of \\\t fonda. It was midnight, 
two hours after Concho had started, that Miguel clapped 
spurs to his horse for the village of Tres Pinos, with an 
application to Governor Micheltorena for a grant to the 
" Rancho of the Red Rocks," comfortably bestowed in his 
pocket. 



CHAPTER VII. 

WHO PLEAD FOR IT. 

There can be little doubt the Coroner's jury of Fresno would 
have returned a verdict of "death from alcoholism," as the 
result of their inquest into the cause of Concho's death, had 
not Dr. Guild fought nobly in support of the law and his 
own convictions. A majority of the jury objected to there 
being any inquest at all. A sincere juryman thought it 
hard that whenever a Greaser pegged out in a sneakin' kind 
o' way, American citizens should be taken from their busi- 
ness to find out what ailed him. " 'Spose he was killed," 
said another, " thar ain't no time this thirty year he weren't, 
so to speak, just sufferin' for it, ez his nat'ral right ez a 
Mexican." The jury at last compromised by bringing in a 
verdict of homicide against certain parties unknown. Yet 
it was understood tacitly that these unknown parties were 
severally Wiles and Pedro ; Manuel, Miguel, and Roscom- 
mon proving an unmistakable alibi. Wiles and Pedro had 
fled to Lower California, and Manuel, Miguel, and Ros- 
common deemed it advisable, in the then excited state of 
the public mind, to withhold the forged application and 



The Story of a Mine. 2>7 

claim from the courts and the public comment. So that 
for a year after the murder of Concho and the flight of his 
assassins "The Blue Mass Mining Company" remained in 
undisturbed and actual possession of the mine, and reigned 
in their stead. 

But the spirit of the murdered Concho would not down 
any more than that of the murdered Banquo, and so 
wrought, no doubt, in a quiet, Concho-like way, sore trouble 
with the " Blue Mass Company." For a great Capitalist 
and Master of Avarice came down to the mine and found 
it fair, and taking one of the Company aside, offered to 
lend his name and a certain amount of coin for a control- 
ling interest, accompanying the generous offer with a 
suggestion that if it were not acceded to he would be com- 
pelled to buy up various Mexican mines and flood the 
market with quicksilver to the great detriment of the 
" Blue Mass Company," which thoughtful suggestion, offered 
by a man frequently alluded to as one of '' California's 
great mining princes," and as one who had " done much to 
develop the resources of the State," was not to be lightly 
considered, and so, after a cautious nonconsultation with 
the Company, and a commendable secrecy, the stockholder 
sold out. Whereat it was speedily spread abroad that the 
great Capitalist had taken hold of " Blue Mass," and the 
stock went up and the other stockholders rejoiced — until 
the Great Capitalist found that it was necessary to put up 
expensive mills, to employ a high salaried superintendent, 
in fact, to develop the mine by the spending of its earnings, 
so that the stock quoted at 112 was finally saddled with an 
assessment of $50 per share. Another assessment of $50 
to enable the superintendent to proceed to Russia and 
Spain and examine into the workings of the quicksilver 
mines there, and also a general commission to the gifted 
and scientific Pillasjeman to examine into the various com- 



38 The Sto7y of a Mme. 

ponent parts of quicksilver, and report if it could not be 
manufactured from ordinary sandstone by steam or electri- 
city, speedily brought the other stockholders to their senses. 
It- was at this time that the good fellow " Tom," the serious- 
minded " Dick," and the speculative but fortunate " Harry," 
brokers of the Great Capitalist, found it convenient to buy 
up, for the Great Capitalist aforesaid, the various other 
shares at great sacrifice. 

I fear that I have bored my readers in thus giving the 
tiresome details of that ingenuous American pastime, which 
my countrymen dismiss in their epigrammatic way as the 
" freezing-out process." And lest any reader should question 
the ethics of the proceeding, I beg him to remember 
that one gentleman accomplished in this art was always a 
sincere and direct opponent of the late Mr. John Oakhurst, 
gambler. 

But for once the Great Master of Avarice had not taken 
into sufficient account the avarice of others, and was sud- 
denly and virtuously shocked to learn that an application 
for a patent for certain lands, known as the " Red Rock 
Rancho," was about to be offered before the United States 
Land Commission. This claim covered his mining pro- 
perty. But the information came quietly and secretly, as 
all of the Great Master's information was obtained, and he 
took the opportunity to sell out his clouded title and his 
proprietorship to the only remaining member of the original 
" Blue Mass " Company, a young fellow of pith, before 
many-tongued rumour had voiced the news far and wide. 
The blow was a heavy one to the party left in possession. 
Saddled by the enormous debts and expenses of the Great 
Capitalist, with a credit now further injured by the defec- 
tion of this lucky magnate, who was admired for his skill 
in anticipating a loss, and whose relinquishment of any 
project meant ruin to it, the single-handed, impoverished 



The Story of a Mine, 39 

possessor of the mine, whose title was contested and whose 
reputation was yet to be made — poor Biggs, first secretary 
and only remaining officer of the " Blue Mass Company," 
looked ruefully over his books and his last transfer, and, 
sighed ! But I have before intimated that he was built of 
good stuff, and that he believed in his work — which was well 
— and in himself, which was better, and so, having faith even 
as a grain of mustard seed, I doubt not he would have been 
able to remove that mountain of quicksilver beyond the over- 
lapping of fraudulent grants. And, again, "Providence — 
having disposed of these several scamps — raised up to him 
a friend. But that friend is of sufficient importance to 
this veracious history to deserve a paragraph to himself. 

The Pylades of this Orestes was known of ordinary 
mortals as Royal Thatcher. His genealogy, birth and 
education are, I take it, of little account to this chronicle, 
which is only concerned with his friendship for Biggs and 
the result thereof. He had known Biggs a year or two 
previously ; they had shared each other's purses, bunks, 
cabins, provisions and often friends, with that perfect 
freedom from obligation which belonged to the pioneer 
life. The varying tide of fortune had just then stranded 
Thatcher on a desert sand-hill in San Francisco, with an 
uninsured cargo of Expectations, while to Thatcher's active 
but not curious fancy it had apparently lifted his friend's 
bark, over the bar in the Monterey mountains, into an 
open quicksilver sea. So that he was considerably sur- 
prised on receiving a note from Biggs to this purport 

"Dear Roy, — Run down here and help a fellow. I've too much 
of a load for one. Maybe we can make a team and pull * Blue Mass ' 
out yet. BiGSEY." 

Thatcher, sitting in his scantily furnished lodgings, 
doubtful of his next meal and in arrears for rent, heard 
this Macedonian cry as St. Paul did. He wrote a promis- 



40 The Story of a Mi 



ne. 



sory and soothing note to his landlady, but fearing the 
*' sweet "sorrow " of a personal parting, let his collapsed 
valise down from his window by a cord, and by means of 
an economical combination of stage riding and pedes- 
trianism, he presented himself, at the close of the third 
day, at Biggs' door. In a few moments he was in posses- 
sion of the story ; ' half an hour later in possession of half 
the mine, its infelix past and its doubtful future, equally 
with his friend. 

Business over. Biggs turned to look at his partner. 
" You've aged some since I saw you last," he said. " Star- 
vation luck, I 'spose. I'd know your eyes, old fellow, if 
I saw them among ten thousand, but four lips are parched 
and your mouth's grimmer than it used to be." Thatcher 
smiled to show that he could still do so, but did not say, 
as he might have said, that self-control, suppressed resent- 
ment, disappointment and occasional hunger had done 
something in the way of correcting Nature's obvious mis- 
takes, and shutting up a kindly mouth. He only took off 
his threadbare coat, rolled up his sleeves, and saying, 
" We've got lots of work and some fighting before us," 
pitched into the " affairs " of the Blue Mass Company on 
the instant. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

OF COUNSEL FOR IT. 

Meanwhile Roscommon had waited. Then, in Garcia's 
name and backed by him, he laid his case before the Land 
Commission, filing the application (with forged indorse- 
ments) to Governor Micheltorena, and alleging that the 
original grant was destroyed by fire. And why? 

It seemed there was a Umit to Miss Carmen's imitative 



The Story of a Mine. 41 

talent. Admirable as it was, it did not reach to the repro- 
duction of that official seal, which would have been a 
necessary appendage to the Governor's grant But there 
were letters written on stamped paper by Governor ^Michel- 
torena, to himself, Garcia and to ^liguel, and to Manuel's 
father, all of which were duly signed by the sign manual 
and rubric of Mrs.-Governor-Micheltorena-Carmen-de-Haro. 
And then there was " parol " evidence and plenty of it ; 
witnesses who remembered ever}-thing about it — namely, 
Manuel, Miguel, and the all-recollecting De Haro ; here 
were details, poetical and suggestive j and Dame-Quicklyish, 
as when his late Excellency, sitting, not " by a sea-coal 
fire," but with aguardiente and cigarros, had sworn to him, 
the ex-ecclesiastic Miguel, that he should grant and had 
granted Garcia's request There were clouds of witnesses, 
conversations, letters and records, glib and pat to the 
occasion. In brief, there was nothing wanted but the 
seal of his Excellency. The only copy of that was in the 
possession of a rival school of renaissant art and the restor- 
ation of antiques, then doing business before the Land 
Commission. 

And yet the claim was rejected ! Having lately recom- 
mended two separate claimants to a patent for the same 
land, the Land Commission became cautious and con- 
servative. 

Roscommon was at first astounded, then indignant, and 
then warlike — he was for an " appale to onst ! " 

With the reader's previous knowledge of Roscommon's 
disposition this may seem somewhat inconsistent ; but there 
are certain natures to whom litigation has all the excitement 
of gambling, and it should be borne in mind that this was 
his first lawsuit So that his lawyer, Mr. Saponaceous 
Wood, found him in that belligerent mood to which counsel 
are obliged to hypocritically bring all the sophistries of 



42 The Story of a Mine. 

their profession. " Of course you have your right to an 
appeal, but calm yourself, my dear sir, and consider. The 
case was presented strongly, the evidence overwhelming on 
our side, but we happened to be fighting previous decisions 
of the Land Commission that had brought thefu i7ito trouble ; 
so that if Micheltorena had himself appeared in Court and 
testified to his giving you the grant it would have made no 
difference — no Spanish grant had a show then, nor will it 
have for the next six months. You see, my dear sir, the 
Government sent out one of its big Washington lawyers to 
look into this business, and he reported frauds, sir, frauds, 
in a majority of the Spanish claims. And why, sir; why? 
He was bought, sir, bought — body and soul — by the Ring!" 

" And fwhot's the Ring ? " asked his client, sharply. 

" The Ring is — ahem ! a combination of unprincipled 
but wealthy persons to defeat the ends of justice." 

" And sure, fwhot's the Ring to do wid me grant as that 
thaving Mexican gave me as the collatherals fer the bourd 
he was owin' me ? Eh, mind that now ! " 

" The Ring, my dear sir, is the other side. It is — ahem ! 
always the Other Side." 

*'And why the divil haven't we a Ring too? And ain't 
I payin' ye five hundred dollars — and the divil of Ring ye 
have — at all, at all? Fwhot am I payin' ye fur, eh?" 

"That a judicious expenditure of money," began Mr. 
Wood, "outside of actual disbursements, may not be of 
infinite service to you I am not prepared to deny — 
but" 

"Look ye, Mr. Sappy Wood, it's the 'appale' I want, 
and the grant I'll have, more betoken as the old woman's 
har-rut and me own is set on it entoirely. Get me the land 
and I'll give ye the half of it — and it's a bargain !" 

" But, my dear sir, there are some rules in our profession 
— technical though they may be " 



The Story of a Mine. 43 

" The divil fly away wid yer profession. Shure is it better 
nor me own ? If I've risked me provisions and me whisky, 
that cost me solid go old in Frisco, on the thafe Garcia's 
claim, bedad ! the loikes of ye can risk yer law." 

" Well," said Wood, with an awkward smile, " I suppose 
that a deed for one half, on the consideration of friendship, 
my dear sir, and a dollar in hand paid by me, might be re- 
concilable." 

"Now it's talkin' ye are. But who's the felly we're 
foighten, that's got the Ring ? " 

" Ah, my dear sir, it's the United States," said the lawyer, 
with gravity. 

" The States ! the Government is it ? And is't that ye'r 
afeard of? Sure it's the Gov'ment that I fought in me own 
counthree, it was the Gov'ment that druv me to Ameriky, 
and is it now that I'm goin' back on me principles ? " 

" Your political sentiments do you great credit," began 
Mr. Wood. 

" But fwhot's the Gov'ment to do wid the appale ? " 

" The Government," said Mr. Wood significantly, " will 
be represented by the District Attorney." 

"And who's the spalpeen?" 

"It is rumoured," said Mr. Wood, slowly, "that a new 
one is to be appointed. /, myself, have had some ambition 
that way." 

His client bent a pair of cunning but not overwise grey 
eyes on his American lawyer. But he only said, "Ye 
have, eh?" 

"Yes," said Wood, answering the look boldly, "and if I 
had the support of a number of your prominent countrymen, 
who are so powerful with all parties — men like you, my 
dear sir — why I think you might in time become a Conser- 
vative, at least more resigned to the Government." 

Then the lesser and the greater scamp looked at each 



44 The Story of a Mine. 

other, and for a moment or two felt a warm, sympathetic, 
friendly emotion for each other, and quietly shook hands. 

Depend upon it there is a great deal more kindly human 
sympathy between two openly confessed scamps than there 
is in that calm, respectable recognition that you and I, dear 
reader, exhibit when we happen to oppose each other with 
our respective virtues. 

" And ye'U get the appale ? " 

" I will.'' 

And he did ! And by a singular coincidence, got the 
District Attorneyship also. And with a deed for one half 
of the " Red Rock Rancho " in his pocket, sent a brother 
lawyer in court to appear for his client, the United States, 
as against himself, Roscommon, Garcia et al. Wild horses 
could not have torn him from this noble resolution. There 
is an indescribable delicacy in the legal profession which 
we literary folk ought to imitate. 

The United States lost ! Which meant ruin and destruc- 
tion to the Blue Mass Company, who had bought from a 
paternal and beneficent Government lands which didn't 
belong to it. The Mexican grant, of course, antedated the 
occupation of the mine by Concho, Wiles, Pedro, et al., as 
well as by the '' Blue Mass Company," and the soHtary 
partners, Biggs and Thatcher. More than that, it swallowed 
up their improvements — it made Biggs and Thatcher respon- 
sible to Garcia for all the money the Grand Master of Avarice 
had made out of it. Mr. District Attorney was apparently 
distressed, but resigned. Messrs. Biggs and Thatcher were 
really distressed and combative. 

And then, to advance a few years in this chronicle, began 
real litigation with earnestness, vigour, courage, zeal and 
belief on the part of Biggs and Thatcher, and technicalities, 
delay, equivocation and a general Fabian-Hke policy on the 
part of Garcia, Roscommon, et al. Of all these tedious 



The Story of a Mine. 45 

processes I note but one, which for originality and audacity 
of conception appears to me to indicate more clearly the 
temper and civilisation of the epoch. A subordinate 
officer of the District Court refused to obey the mandate 
ordering a transcript of the record to be sent up to the 
United States Supreme Court. It is to be regretted that 
the name of this Ephesian youth, who thus fired the dome 
of our constitutional liberties, should have been otherwise 
so unimportant as to be confined to the dusty records of that 
doubtful court of which he was a doubtful servitor, and that 
his claim to immortality ceased with his double-fee'd service. 
But there still stands on record a letter by this young gentle- 
man arraigning the legal wisdom of the land, which is not 
entirely devoid of amusement or even instruction to young 
men desirous of obtaining publicity and capital. Howbeit 
the Supreme Court was obliged to protect itself by procuring 
the legislation of his functions out of his local fingers into 
the larger palm of its own attorney. 

These various processes of law and equity, which, when 
exercised practically in the affairs of ordinary business, 
might have occupied a few months' time, dragged, clung, 
retrograded or advanced slowly during a period of eight or 
nine years. But the strong arms of Biggs and Thatcher 
held Possession, and, possibly by the same tactics employed 
on the other side, arrested or delayed ejectment, and so 
made and sold quicksilver, while their opponents were 
spending gold, until Biggs, sorely hit in the interlacings of 
his armour, fell in the hsts, his cheek growing waxen and 
his strong arm feeble, and finding himself in this sore 
condition, and passing, as it were, made over his share in 
trust to his comrade, and died. Whereat, from that time 
henceforward, Royal Thatcher reigned in his stead. 

And so, having anticipated the legal record, we will go back 
to the various human interests that helped to make it up. 



46 The Story of a Mine, 

To begin with Roscommon. To do justice to his later 
conduct and expressions, it must be remembered that when 
he accepted the claim for the "Red Rock Rancho," yet 
unquestioned, from the hands of Garcia, he was careless, 
or at least unsuspicious of fraud. It was not until he had 
experienced the intoxication of litigation that he felt, some- 
how, that he was a wronged and defrauded man, but with 
the obstinacy of defrauded men, preferred to arraign some 
one fact or individual as the impelling cause of his wrong, 
rather than the various circumstances that led to it. To 
his simple mind it was made patent that the " Blue Mass 
Company" were making money out of a mine which he 
claimed, and which was not yet adjudged to them. Every 
dollar they took out was a fresh count in this' general 
indictment. Every delay toward this adjustment of rights 
— although made by his own lawyer-^was a personal wrong. 
The mere fact that there never was or had been any quid 
pro quo for this immense property — that it had fallen to 
him for a mere song — only added zest to his struggle. 
The possibiHty of his losing this mere speculation affected 
him more strongly than if he had already paid down the 
million he expected to get from the mine. I don't know 
that I have indicated as plainly as I might that universal 
preference on the part of mankind to get something from 
nothing, and to acquire the largest return for the least 
possible expenditure, but I question my right to say 
that Roscommon was much more reprehensible than his 
fellows. 

But it told upon him as it did upon all whom the spirit 
of the murdered Concho brooded — upon all whom Avarice 
alternately flattered and tortured. From his quiet gains 
in his legitimate business, from the little capital accumu- 
lated through industry and economy, he lavished thousands 
on this chimera of his fancy. He grew grizzled and worn 



The Story of a Mine. 47 

over his self-imposed delusion ; he no longer jested with 
his customers, regardless of quality or station or importance ; 
he had cliques to mollify, enemies to placate, friends to 
reward. The grocery suffered ; through giving food and 
lodgment to clouds of unimpeachable witnesses before the 
Land Commission and the District Court, "Mrs. Ros." 
found herself losing money. Even the bar failed ; there 
was a party of Blue Mass employees who drank at the op- 
posite fonda and cursed the Roscommon claim over the 
liquor. The calm, mechanical indifference with which 
Roscommon had served his customers was gone. The 
towel was no longer used after its perfunctory fashion ; the 
counter remained unwiped ; the disks of countless glasses 
marked its surface, and indicated other pre-occupation on 
the part of the proprietor. The keen grey eye of the 
claimant of the Red Rock Rancho was always on the look- 
out for friend or enemy. 

Garcia comes next : that gentleman's inborn talent for 
historic misrepresentation, culminated unpleasantly through 
a defective memory ; a year or two after he had sworn in 
his apphcation for the Rancho, being engaged in another 
case, some trifling inconsistency was discovered in his 
statements, which had the effect of throwing the weight of 
evidence to the party who had paid him most, but was 
instantly detected by the weaker party. Garcia's pre- 
eminence as a witness, an expert and general historian, 
began to decline. He was obHged to be corroborated, 
and this required a liberal outlay of his fee. With the loss 
of his credibility as a witness bad habits supervened. He 
was frequently drunk, he lost his position^ he lost his house, 
and Carmen, removed to San Francisco, supported him 
with her brush. 

And this brings us once more to that pretty painter and 
innocent forger, whose unconscious act bore such baleful 



45 The Story of a Mine. 

fruit on the barren hill-sides of the Red Rock Rancho, and 
also to a later blossom of her life, that opened, however, 
in kindlier sunshine. 



CHAPTER IX. 

WHAT THE FAIR HAD TO DO ABOUT IT. 

The house that Royal Thatcher so informally quitted in 
his exodus to the promised land of Biggs, was one of those 
over-sized, under-calculated dwellings conceived and erected 
in the extravagance of the San Francisco builder's hopes, 
and occupied finally to his despair. Intended originally 
as the palace of some inchoate Californian Aladdin, it 
usually ended as a lodging-house in which some helpless 
widow, or hopeless spinster, managed to combine respect- 
abihty with the hard task of bread-getting. Thatcher's 
landlady was one of the former class. She had unfortunately 
survived not only her husband, but his property, and living 
in some deserted chamber, had, after the fashion of the 
Italian nobihty, let out the rest of the ruin. A tendency 
to dwell upon these facts gave her conversation a peculiar 
significance on the first of each month. Thatcher had 
noticed this with the sensitiveness of an impoverished 
gentleman. But when, a few days after her lodger's sudden 
disappearance, a note came from him containing a draft in 
noble excess of all arrears and charges, the widow's heart 
was lifted, and the rock smitten with the golden wand 
gushed beneficence, that shone in a new gown for the 
widow, and a new suit for " Johnny," her son, a new oil- 
cloth in the hall, better service to the lodgers, and, let us 
be thankful, a kindlier consideration for the poor little 
black-eyed painter from Monterey, then dreadfully behind 
in her room rent. For, to tell the truth, the calls upon Miss 



The Story of a Mine. 49 

de Haro's scant purse by her uncle had lately been frequent, 
perjury having declined in the Monterey market, through 
excessive and injudicious supply, until the line of demarca- 
tion between it and absolute verity was so finely drawn 
that Victor Garcia had remarked that "he might as well 
tell the truth at once and save his soul, since the devil was 
in the market ! " 

IMistress Plodgitt, the landlady, could not resist the 
desire to acquaint Carmen de Haro with her good fortune. 
*' He was always a friend of yours, my dear — and I know 
him to be a gentleman that would never let a poor widow 
suffer ; and see what he says about you ! " Here she pro- 
duced Thatcher's note and read: "Tell my little neighbour 
that I shall come back soon to carry her and her sketching- 
tools off by force, and I shall not let her return until she 
has caught the black mountains and the red rocks she used 
to talk about, and put the Blue Mass Mill in the foreground 
of the picture I shall order." 

What is this, little one? Surely, Carmen, thou needst 
not blush at this, thy first grand offer. Holy Virgin ! Is it 
of a necessity that thou shouldst stick the wrong end of thy 
brush in thy mouth, and then drop it in thy lap? Or was 
it taught thee by the good Sisters at the convent to stride 
in that boyish fashion to the side of thy elders and snatch 
from their hands the missive thou wouldst read? More of 
this we would know, O Carmen — smallest of brunettes — 
speak, little one, even in thine own melodious speech, that 
I may commend thee and thy rare discretion to my own 
fair countrywomen. 

Alas ! neither the present chronicler nor Mistress Plodgitt 
got any further information from the prudent Carmen, and 
must fain speculate upon certain facts that were already 
known. 

Mistress Carmen's little room was opposite to Thatcher's, 

VOL. v. D 



50 The Story of a Aline, 

and once or twice, the doors being open, Thatcher had a 
glimpse across the passage of a black-haired head and a 
sturdy, boyish little figure in a great blue apron, perched 
on a stool before an easel, and, on the other hand, Carmen 
had often been conscious of the fumes of a tobacco pipe 
penetrating her cloistered seclusion, and had seen across 
the passage, vaguely enveloped in the same nicotine cloud, 
an American Olympian, in a rocking-chair, with his feet on 
the mantel-shelf. They had once or twice met on the 
staircase, on which occasion Thatcher had greeted her 
with a word or two of respectful yet half-humorous courtesy 
— a courtesy which never really offends a true woman, 
although it often piques her self-aplomb by the slight 
assumption of superiority in the humorist. A woman is 
quick to recognise the fact that the great and more dan- 
gerous passions are always serious, and may be excused ii 
in self-respect she is often induced to try if there be not 
somewhere under the skin of this laughing Mercutio the 
flesh and blood of a Romeo. Thatcher was by nature a 
defender and protector; weakness, and weakness alone, 
stirred the depths of his tenderness — often, I fear, only 
through its half humorous aspects — and on this plane he 
was pleased to place women and children. I mention this 
fact for the benefit of the more youthful members of my 
species, and am satisfied that an unconditional surrender, 
and the complete laying down at the feet of Beauty of all 
strong masculinity, is a cheap Gallicism that is untranslat- 
able to most women worthy the winning. For a woman 
must always look up to the man she truly loves — even if 
she has to go down on her knees to do it. 

Only the masculine reader will infer from this that 
Carmen was in love with Thatcher; the more critical and 
analytical feminine eye will see nothing herein that might 
not have happened consistently with friendship. For 



The Story of a Mine. 5 1 

Thatcher was no sentimentalist ; he had hardly paid a 
compliment to the girl — even in the unspoken but most 
dehcate form of attention. There were days when his 
room door was closed ; there were days succeeding these 
blanks when he met her as frankly and naturally as if he 
had seen her yesterday. Indeed on those days following 
his flight the simple-minded Carmen, being aware — heaven 
knows how — that he had not opened his door during that 
period, and fearing sickness, sudden death, or perhaps 
suicide, by her appeals to the landlady, assisted unwittingly 
in discovering his flight and defection. As she was for a 
few moments as indignant as Mrs. Plodgitt, it is evident 
that she had but little sympathy with the delinquent. And 
besides, hitherto she had known only Concho — her earliest 
friend — and was true to his memory — as against all Ameri- 
canos, whom she firmly believed to be his murderers. 

So she dismissed the offer and the man from her mind, 
and went back to her painting — a fancy portrait of the 
good Padre Junipero Serra, a great missionary, who, haply 
for the integrity of his bones and character, died some 
hundred years before the Americans took possession of 
California. The picture was fair but unsaleable, and she 
began to think seriously of sign-painting, which was then 
much more popular and marketable. An unfinished head 
of San Juan de Bautista, artificially framed in clouds, she 
disposed of to a prominent druggist for I50, where it did 
good service as exhibiting the effect of four bottles of 
"Jones' Freckle Eradicator," and in a pleasant and unob- 
trusive way revived the memory of the saint. Still she felt 
weary and was growing despondent, and had a longing for 
the good Sisters and the blameless lethargy of conventual 
life, and then 

He came ! 

But not as the Prince should come, on a white charger, 



52 The Story of a Mine. 

to carry away this cruelly abused and enchanted damsel. 
He was sun- burned, he was bearded " like the pard ; " he 
was a little careless as to his dress, and preoccupied in his 
ways. But his mouth and eyes were the same, and when 
he repeated in his old frank, half-mischievous way the 
invitation of his letter, poor little Carmen could only hesi- 
tate and blush. 

A thought struck him and sent the colour to his face. 
Your gentleman born is always as modest as a woman. 
He ran downstairs, and seizing the widowed Plodgitt, said 
hastily — 

"You're just killing yourself here. Take a change. 
Come down to Monterey for a day or two with me, and 
bring Miss De Haro with you for company." 

The old lady recognised the situation. Thatcher was 
now a man of vast possibilities. In all maternal daughters 
of Eve there is the slightest bit of the chaperone and 
match-maker. It is the last way of reviving the past. 

She consented, and Carmen De Haro could not well 
refuse. 

The ladies found the Blue Mass Mills very much as 
Thatcher ha.d previously described it to them, "a trifle 
rough and mannish." But he made over to them the one 
tenement reserved for himself, and slept with his men, or 
more likely under the trees. At first Mrs. Plodgitt missed 
gas and running water, and the several conveniences of 
civihsation, among which I fear may be mentioned sheets 
and pillow cases; but the balsam of the mountain air 
soothed her neuralgia and her temper. As for Carmen, she 
rioted in the unlimited license of her absolute freedom from 
conventional restraint and the indulgence of her childlike 
impulses. She scoured the ledges far and wide alone ; she 
dipped into dark copses and scrambled over sterile patches 
of chimisal, and came back laden with the spoil of buckeye 



The Story of a Mine. 53 

blossoms, Manzanita berries and laurel. But she would 
not make a sketch of the Blue Mass Company's mills on a 
Mercators projection; something that could be afterwards 
lithographed or chromoed, with the mills turning out tons 
of quicksilver through the energies of a happy and pictur- 
esque assemblage of miners — even to please her padrone^ 
Don Royal Thatcher. On the contrary, she made a study 
of the ruins of the crumbled and decayed Red Rock 
furnace, with the black mountain above it, and the light of 
a dying camp fire shining upon it and the dull red excava- 
tions in the ledge. But even this did not satisfy her until 
she had made some alterations, and when she finally 
brought her finished study to Don Royal she looked at 
him a little defiantly. Thatcher admired honestly and 
then criticised a little humorously and dishonestly. " But 
couldn't you, for a consideration, put up a signboard on 
that rock with the inscription, ' Road to the Blue Ivlass 
Company's new mills to the right,' and combine business 
with art? That's the fault of you geniuses. But what's this 
blanketed figure doing here, lying before the furnace ? You 
never saw one of my miners there — and a Mexician, too, 
by his serap'e ! " " That," quoth Mistress Carmen coolly, 
" was put in to fill up the foreground ; I wanted something 
there to balance the picture." " But," continued Thatcher, 
dropping into unconscious admiration again, " it's drawn to 
the Ufe. Tell me, Miss De Haro, before I ask the aid and 
counsel of ISIrs. Plodgitt, who is my hated rival and 
your lay figure and model ? " " Oh," said Carmen, with a 
little sigh, "it's only poor Concho." "And where is 
Concho ?" (a little impatiently.) " He's dead, Don Royal." 
" Dead ? " " Of a verity — very dead — murdered here 
by your countrymen." " I see — and you knew him ? " 
" He was my friend." 
" Oh ! " 



54 The Story of a Mine. 

'' Truly." 

" But " (wickedly), " isn't this a rather ghastly advertise- 
ment — outside of an illustrated newspaper — of my pro- 
perty ? " 

*' Ghastly, Don Royal. Look you, he sleeps." 
"Ay" (in Spanish), "as the dead." 
Carmen — (crossing herself hastily) — "After the fashion 
of the dead." 

They were both feeling uncomfortable. Carmen was 
shivering. But being a woman and tactful, she recovered 
her head first. " It is a -study for myself, Don Royal ; I 
shall make to you another." And she sHpped away, as she 
thought, out of the subject and his presence. 

But she was mistaken : in the evening he renewed the 
conversation. Carmen began to fence, not from cowardice 
or deceit, as the masculine reader would readily infer, but 
from some wonderful feminine instinct that told her to be 
cautious. But he got from her the fact, to him before 
unknown, that she was the niece of his main antagonist, 
and being a gentleman, so redoubled his attentions and his 
courtesy that Mrs. Plodgitt made up her mind that it was a 
foregone conclusion, and seriously reflected as to what she 
should wear on the momentous occasion. But that night 
poor Carmen cried herself to sleep, resolving that she would 
hereafter cast aside her wicked uncle for this good-hearted 
Americano, yet never once connected her innocent pen- 
manship with the deadly feud between them. Women — the 
best of them- — are strong as to collateral facts, swift of de- 
duction, but vague as children are to the exact statement 
or recognition of premises. It is hardly necessary to say 
that Carmen had never thought of connecting any act of 
hers with the claims of her uncle, and the circumstance of 
the signature she had totally forgotten. 

The masculine reader will now understand Carmen's con- 



The Story of a Mine. 55 

fusion and blushes, and believe himself an ass to have 
thought them a confession of original affection. The 
feminine reader will, by this time, become satisfied that the 
deceitful minx's sole idea was to gain the affections of 
Thatcher. xA.nd really I don't know who is right. 

Nevertheless she painted a sketch for Thatcher — which 
now adorns the Company's office in San Francisco — in 
which the property is laid out in pleasing geometrical lines, 
and the rosy promise of the future instinct in every touch 
of the brush. Then, having earned her "wage," as she 
believed, she became somewhat cold and shy to Thatcher. 
Whereat that gentleman redoubled his attentions, seeing 
only in her presence a certain meprt'se, which concerned her 
more than himself. The niece of his enemy meant nothing 
more to him than an interesting girl — to be protected 
always — to be feared, never. But even suspicion may be 
insidiously placed in noble minds. 

Mistress Plodgitt, thus early estopped of match-making, 
of course put the blame on her own sex, and went over to 
the stronger side — the man's. 

" It's a great pity gals should be so curious," she said, 
sotto voce, to Thatcher, when Carmen was in one of her 
sullen moods. "Yet I 'spose it's in her blood. Them 
Spaniards is always revengeful — like the Eyetalians." 

Thatcher honestly looked his surprise. 

" Why, don^t you see, she's thinking how all these lands 
might have been her uncle's but for you. And instead of 
trying to be sweet and " here she stopped to cough. 

" Good God ! " said Thatcher in great concern, " I never 
thought of that." He stopped for a moment and then 
added with decision, " I can't believe it; it isn't like her." 

Mrs. P. was piqued. She walked away, delivering^ how- 
ever, this Parthian arrow : " Well, I hope 'tai?it not/wig 
wo?'se." 



56 The Story of a Mine, 

Thatcher chuckled, then felt uneasy. When he next met 
Carmen she found his grey eyes fixed on hers with a curious, 
half-inquisitorial look she had never noticed before. This 
only added fuel to the fire. Forgetting their relations of 
host and guest, she was absolutely rude. Thatcher was 
quiet but watchful ; got the Plodgitt to bed early, and 
under cover of showing a moonlight view of the " Lost 
Chance Mill," decoyed Carmen out of ear-shot, as far as the 
dismantled furnace. 

'^ What is the matter. Miss De Haro ; have I offended 
you?" 

Miss Carmen was not aware that anything was the 
matter. If Don Royal preferred old friends, whose loyalty 
of course he knew, who 'we7'e above speaking ill agai7ist a 
gentleman in his adversity — (O Carmen ! fie !) if he preferred 
their company to later friends — why — (the masculine reader 
will observe this tremendous climax and tremble) — why she 
didn't know why he should blame her. 

They turned and faced each other. The conditions for 
a perfect misunderstanding could not have been better 
arranged between two people. Thatcher was a masculine 
reasoner. Carmen a feminine feeler — if I may be pardoned 
the expression. Thatcher wanted to get at certain facts, 
and argue therefrom. Carmen wanted to get at certain 
feelings and then fit the facts to them. 

" But I am not blaming you, Miss Carmen," he said 
gravely. " It was stupid in me to confront you here with 
the property claimed by your uncle and occupied by me, 
but it was a mistake — no ! (he added hastily) — it was not 
a mistake. You knew it and I didn't. You overlooked it 
before you came, and I was too glad to overlook it after 
you were here." 

" Of course," said Carmen, pettishly, " I am the only 
one to be blamed. It's like you men I " (Mem. She was 



The Story of a Mine. 57 

just fifteen, and uttered this awful resume of experience just 
as if it hadn't been taught to her in her cradle.) 

Feminine generalities always stagger a man. Thatcher 
said nothing. Carmen became more enraged. 

" Why did you want to take Uncle Victor's property, 
then ? " she asked triumphantly. 

" I don't know that it is your uncle's property." "^ 

"You — don't — know? Have you seen the application 
with Governor Micheltorena's indorsement? Have you 
heard the witnesses ? " she said passionately. 

" Signatures may be forged and witnesses lie," said 
Thatcher, quietly. 

" What is it you call ' forged ? ' " 

Thatcher instantly recalled the fact that the Spanish 
language held no synonym for " forgery." The act was 
apparently an invention of El Diable Aitiericano. So he 
said, with a slight smile in his kindly eyes — 

"Anybody wicked enough and dexterous enough can 
imitate another's handwriting. When this is used to benefit 
fraud we call it ' forgery.' I beg your pardon — Miss De 
Haro, Miss Carmen — what is the matter?" 

She had suddenly lapsed against a tree, quite helpless, 
nerveless, and with staring eyes fixed on his. As yet an 
embryo woman, inexperienced and ignorant, the sex's 
instinct was potential ; she had in one plunge fathomed all 
that his reason had been years groping for. 

Thatcher saw only that she was pained, that she was 
helpless ; that was enough. " It is possible that your uncle 
may have been deceived," he began, '' many honest men 
have been fooled by clever but deceitful tricksters, men and 
women " 

" Stop ! Madre de Dios! Will you stop ? " 

Thatcher for an instant recoiled from the flashing eyes 
and white face of the little figure that had, with menacing 



-58 The Stoiy of a Mine. 

and clenched baby fingers, strode to his side. He stopped. 
*' Where is this appUcation — this forgery?" she asked., 
" Show it to me ! " 

Thatcher felt relieved, and smiled the superior smile of 
our sex over feminine ignorance. " You could hardly 
expect me to be trusted with your uncle's vouchers. His 
papers of course are in the hands of his counsel." 

"And when can I leave this place?" she asked, pas- 
sionately. 

"If you consult my wishes you will stay, if only long 
enough to forgive me. But if I have offended you, unknow- 
ingly, and you are implacable" 

" I can go to-morrow, at sunrise, if I like ?" 

" As you will," returned Thatcher, gravely. 

" Gracias, Senor." 

They walked slowly back to the house. Thatcher with 
a masculine sense of being unreasonably afflicted, Carmen 
with a woman's instinct of being hopelessly crushed. No 
word was spoken until they reached the door. Then 
Carmen suddenly, in her old, impulsive way, and in a 
childlike treble, sang out merrily, "Good-night, O Don 
Royal, and pleasant dreams. Hasta Mariana^ 

Thatcher stood dumb and astonished at this capricious 
girl. She saw his mystification instantly. "It is for the 
old Cat!" she whispered, jerking her thumb over her 
shoulder in the direction of the sleeping Mrs. P. " Good- 
night — go ! " 

He went to give orders for a peon to attend the ladies 
and their equipage the next day. He awoke to find Miss 
De Haro gone, with her escort, towards Monterey. And 
without the Plodgitt. 

He could not conceal his surprise from the latter lady. 
She, left alone — a not altogether unavailable victim to the 
wiles of our sex — was embarrassed. But not so much that 



The Story of a Mine. 59 

she could not say to Thatcher : '' I told you so — gone to 
her uncle ... To tell him all !^^ 

" All. D — n it, what can she tell him ? " roared Thatcher, 
stung out of his self-control. 

"Nothing, I hope, that she should not," said Mrs. P., 
and chastely retired. 

She was right. Miss Carmen posted to Monterey, run- 
ning her horse nearly off its legs to do it, and then sent back 
her beast and escort, saying she would rejoin Mrs. Plodgitt 
by steamer at San Francisco. Then she went boldly to the 
law office of Saponaceous Wood, District Attorney and 
whilom solicitor of her uncle. 

With the majority of masculine Monterey Miss Carmen 
was known and respectfully admired, despite the infelix 
reputation of her kinsman. Mr. Wood was glad to see her, 
and awkwardly gallant. Miss Carmen was cool and busi- 
ness-like ; she had come from her uncle to "regard" the 
papers in the Red Rock Rancho case. They were instantly 
produced. Carmen turned to the application for the grant. 
Her cheek paled slightly. With her clear memory and 
wonderful fidelity of perception she could not be mistaken. 
The signature of Micheltorena was in her own handwriting ! 

Yet she looked up to the lawyer with a smile : " May I 
take these papers for an hour to my uncle ? " 

Even an older and better man than the District Attorney 
could not have resisted those drooping lids and that gentle 
voice. 

" Certainly." 

" I will return them in an hour." 

She was as good as her word, and within the hour dropped 
the papers and a little courtesy to her uncle's legal advo- 
cate, and that night took the steamer to San Francisco. 

The next morning Victor Garcia, a little the worse for the 
previous night's dissipation, reeled into Wood's office. *' I 



6o The Story of a Mine. 

have fears for my niece, Carmen. She is with the enemy/' 
he said thickly. " Look you at this." 

It was an anonymous letter (in Mrs. Plodgitt's own awk- 
ward fist), advising him of the fact that his niece was bought 
by the enemy, and cautioning him against her. 

" Impossible," said the lawyer, " it was only last week she 
sent thee $ 50." 

Victor blushed, even through his ensanguined cheeks, 
and made an impatient gesture with his hand. 

" Besides," added the lawyer coolly, " she has been here 
to examine the papers at thy request, and returned them of 
yesterday." 

Victor gasped — " And — you — you — gave them to her ? " 

"Of course!" 

" All ? Even the application and the signature ? " 

" Certainly — you sent her." 

" Sent her ? The devil's own daughter ? " shrieked Garcia. 
" No ! A hundred million times, no ! Quick, before it is 
too late. Give to me the papers." 

Mr. Wood reproduced the file. Garcia ran over it with 
trembling fingers, until at last he clutched the fateful docu- 
ment. Not content with opening it and glancing at its text 
and signature, he took it to the window. 

" It is the same," he muttered with a sigh of relief 

" Of course it is," said Mr. Wood sharply. " The papers 
are all there. You're a fool, Victor Garcia ! " 

And so he was. And, for the matter of that, so was Mr. 
Saponaceous Wood, of counsel. 

Meanwhile Miss De Haro returned to San Francisco and 
resumed her work. A day or two later she was joined by 
her landlady. Mrs. P. has too large a nature to permit an 
anonymous letter, written by her own hand, to stand be- 
tween her and her demeanour to her little lodger. So she 
coddled her and flattered her, and depicted in slightly ex-v 



The Story of a Mine. 6 1 

aggerated colours the grief of Don Royal at her sudden de- 
parture. All of which Miss Carmen received in a demure- 
kitten-like way, but still kept quietly at her work. In due 
time Don Royal's order was completed ; still she had leisure 
and inclination enough to add certain touches to her 
ghastly sketch of the crumbling furnace. 

Nevertheless, as Don Royal did not return, through 
excess of business, Mrs. Plodgitt turned an honest penny 
by letting his room, temporarily, to two quiet Mexicans, 
who, but for a beastly habit of cigarrito smoking which 
tainted the whole house, were fair enough lodgers. If 
they failed in making the acquaintance of this fair country- 
woman, Miss De Haro, it was through that lady's preoccu- 
pation in her over work, and not through their ostentatious 
endeavours. 

"Miss De Haro is peculiar," explained the poHtic Mrs. 
P. to her guests, " she makes no acquaintances, which I 
consider bad for her business. If it had not been for me 
she would not have known Royal Thatcher, the great 
quicksilver miner — and had his order for a picture of his 
mine ! " 

The two foreign gentlemen exchanged glances. One 
said, " Ah, God ! this is bad," and the other, " It is not pos- 
sible ! " and then, when the landlady's back was turned, 
introduced themselves with a skeleton key into the then 
vacant bedroom and studio of their fair countrywoman, 
who was absent sketching. "Thou observest," said Mr. 
Pedro, refugee, to Miguel, ex-ecclesiastic, " that this Ameri- 
cano is all powerful, and that this Victor, drunkard as he 
is, is right in his suspicions." 

" Of a verity, yes," replied Miguel, " thou dost remember 
it was Jovita Castro who, for her Americano lover, betrayed 
the Sobriente claim. It is only with us, my Pedro, that 
Mexican spirit, the real God and Liberty, yet lives ! " 



62 The Story of a Mine. 

They shook hands nobly and with sentimental fervour, 
and then went to work, i.e., the rummaging over of the 
trunks, drawers and portmanteaus of the poor little painter, 
Carmen De Haro, and even ripped up the mattress of her 
virginal cot. But they found not what they sought. 

" What is that yonder on the easel, covered with a cloth? " 
said Miguel; "it is a trick of these artists to put their 
valuables together." 

Pedro strode to the easel and tore away the muslin cur- 
tain that veiled it ; then uttered a shriek that appalled his 
comrade and brought him to his side. 

*'In the name of God," said Miguel hastily, " are you try- 
ing to alarm the house ? " 

The ex-vaquero was trembling like a child. '' Look," 
he said hoarsely, " look, do you see ? It is the hand of 
God," and fainted on the floor ! 

Miguel looked. It was Carmen's partly finished sketch 
of the deserted furnace. The figure of Concho, thrown out 
strongly by the camp fire, occupied the left foreground. 
But to balance her picture she had evidently been obliged 
to introduce another : the face and figure of Pedro, on all 
fours, creeping toward the sleeping man. 



CHAPTER X. 

WHO LOBBIED FOR IT. 

It was a midsummer's day in Washington. Even at 
early morning, while the sun was yet level with the faces of 
pedestrians in its broad, shadeless avenues, it was insuffer- 
ably hot. Later the avenues themselves shone like the 
diverging rays of another sun — the Capitol — a thing to be 
feared by the naked eye. Later yet it grew hotter, and then 
a mist arose from the Potomac, and blotted out the blazing 



The Story of a Mine. 63 

arch above, and presently piled up along the horizon de- 
lusive thunder-clouds, that spent their strength and substance 
elsewhere and left it hotter than before. Towards evening 
the sun came out invigorated — having cleared the heavenly 
brow of perspiration, but leaving its fever unabated. 

The city was deserted. The few who remained appar- 
ently buried themselves from the garish light of day in some 
dim cloistered recess of shop, hotel or restaurant, and the 
perspiring stranger, dazed by the outer glare, who broke in 
upon their quiet, sequestered repose, confronted collarless 
and coatless spectres of the past with fans in their hands, 
who, after dreamily going through some perfunctory business, 
immediately retired to sleep after the stranger had gone. 
Congressmen and Senators had long since returned to their 
several constituencies with the various information that the 
country was going to ruin, or that the outlook never was more 
hopeful and cheering, as the tastes of their constituency 
indicated. A few Cabinet officers still lingered, having by 
this time become convinced that they could do nothing 
their own way, or indeed in any way but the old way, and 
getting gloomily resigned to their situation. A body of 
learned, cultivated men, representing the highest legal 
tribunal in the land, still lingered in a vague idea of earning 
the scant salary bestowed upon them by the economical 
founders of the Government, and listened patiently to the 
arguments of Counsel, whose fees for advocacy of claims 
before them would have paid the life income of half the 
bench. There was Mr. Attorney General and his assistants 
still protecting the Government's milUons from rapacious 
hands, and drawing the yearly public pittance that their 
wealthier private antagonists would have scarce given as a 
retainer to their junior counsel. The little standing army 
of departmental employees — the helpless victims of the most 
senseless and idiotic form of discipline the world has known 



64 The Story of a Mine. 

— a discipline so made up of Caprice, Expediency, 
Cowardice and Tyranny that its reform meant Revolution, 
not to be tolerated by legislators and lawgivers, or a Des- 
potism in which half a dozen accidentally chosen men in- 
terpreted their prejudices or preferences as being that Re- 
form. Administration after Administration and Party after 
Party had persisted in their desperate attempts to fit the 
youthful colonial garments, made by our fathers after by- 
gone fashion, over the expanded limits and generous out- 
line of a matured nation. There were patches here and 
there, there were grievous rents and holes here and there, 
there were ludicrous and painful exposures of growing limbs 
everywhere, and the Party in Power and the Party out of 
Power could do nothing but mend and patch, and revamp 
and cleanse and scour, and occasionally, in the wildness of 
despair, suggest even the cutting off the rebellious limbs 
that persisted in growing beyond the swaddling clothes of 
its infancy. 

It was a capital of Contradictions and Inconsistencies. 
At one end of the Avenue sat the responsible High Keeper 
of the Military Honour, Valour and Warlike Prestige 
of a Great Nation, without the power to pay his own 
troops their legal dues until some selfish quarrel between 
Party and Party was settled. Hard by sat another 
secretary, whose established functions seemed to be the 
misrepresentation of the nation abroad by the least char- 
acteristic of its classes — the politicians — and only then 
when they had been defeated as politicians, and when 
their constituents had declared them no longer worthy to 
be even their representatives. This National Absurdity 
was only equalled by another, wherein an Ex-Politician 
was for four years expected to uphold the honour of a flag 
of a great nation over an ocean he had never tempted, 
with a discipline the rudiments of which he could scarcely 



The Story of a Mine. 65 

acquire before he was removed, or his term of office 
expired, receiving his orders from a superior officer as 
ignorant of his special duties as himself, and subjected to 
the revision of a Congress cognisant of him only as a 
poHtician. At the further end of the Avenue was another 
department, so vast in its extent and so varied in its func- 
tions that few of the really Great Practical Workers of the 
land would have accepted its responsibility for ten times 
its salary, but which the most perfect Constitution in the 
World handed over to men who were obliged to make it a 
stepping stone to future preferment. There was another 
department, more suggestive of its financial functions 
from the occasional extravagances or economies exhibited 
in its pay-roUs — successive Congresses having taken other 
matters out of its hands — presided over by an official who 
bore the title and responsibility of the Custodian and 
Disburser of the Nation's Purse, and received a salary that 
a bank president would have sniffed at. For it was part 
of this Constitutional Inconsistency and Administrative 
Absurdity that in the matter of Honour, Justice, Fidelity 
to Trust, and even Business Integrity, the official was 
always expected to be the superior of the Government he 
represented. Yet the crowning Inconsistency was that, 
from time to time, it was submitted to the sovereign 
people :to declare if these various Inconsistencies were not 
really the perfect expression of the most perfect Govern- 
ment the world had known. And it is to be recorded 
that the unanimous voices of Representative, Orator and 
Unfettered Poetry were that it was. 

Even the public press lent itself to the Great Inconsis- 
tency. It was as clear as crystal to the journal on one 
side of the Avenue that the country was going to the dogs 
unless the spirit of the fathers once more reanimated the 
public ; it was equally clear to the journal on the other 

VOL. v. E 



66 The Story of a Mine. 

side of the Avenue that only a rigid adherence to the letter 
of the fathers would save the nation from decline. It was 
obvious to the first-named journal that the "letter" meant 
Government patronage to the other journal ; it was potent 
to that journal that the "Shekels" of Senator X. really 
animated the spirit of the fathers. Yet all agreed it was a 
great and good and perfect government — subject only to 
the predatory incursions of a hydra-headed monster known 
as a " Ring." The Ring's origin was wrapped in secrecy, 
its fecundity was alarming ; but although its rapacity was 
preternatural, its digestion was perfect and easy. It cir- 
cumvolved all affairs in an atmosphere of mystery; it 
clouded all things with the dust and ashes of distrust. All 
disappointment of place, of avarice, of incompetency or 
ambition, was clearly attributable to it. It even per- 
meated private and social life : there were Rings in our 
kitchen and household service ; in our public schools, that 
kept the active intelligences of our children passive ; 
there were Rings of engaging, handsome, dissolute young 
fellows, who kept us moral but unengaging seniors from 
the favours of the Fair ; there were subtle, conspiring 
Rings among our creditors, which sent us into bank- 
ruptcy and restricted our credit. In fact, it would not be . 
hazardous to say that all that was calamitous in public and 
private experience was clearly traceable to that combina- 
tion of power in a minority over weakness in a majority — 
known as a " Ring." 

Haply there was a body of demigods, as yet uninvoked, 
who should speedily settle all that. When Smith of 
Minnesota, Robinson of Vermont, and Jones of Georgia, 
returned to Congress from those rural seclusions, so potent 
with information and so freed from local prejudices, it was 
understood, vaguely, that great things would be done. 
This was always understood. There never was a time 



The Story of a Mine. 67 

in the history of American politics when, to use the 
expression of the journals before alluded to, " the present 
session of Congress " did not " bid fair to be the most 
momentous in our history," and did not, as far as the facts 
go, leave a vast amount of unfinished important business 
lying hopelessly upon its desks, having "bolted" the rest 
as rashly and with as little regard to digestion or assimi- 
lation as the American traveller has for his railway 
refreshment. 

In this capital, on this languid midsummer day, in an 
upper room of one of its second rate hotels, the Honour- 
able Mr. Pratt C. Gashwiler sat at his writing-table. There 
are certain large, fleshy men with whom the omission of 
even a necktie or collar has all the effect of an indecent 
exposure. The Honourable Mr. Gashwiler, in his trousers 
and shirt, was a sight to be avoided by the modest eye. 
There were such palpable suggestions of vast extents of 
unctuous flesh in the slight glimpse offered by his open 
throat, that his dishabille should have been as private as 
his business. Nevertheless, when there was a knock at 
his door he unhesitatingly said, " Come in ! " — pushing 
away a goblet crowned with a certain aromatic herb with 
his right hand, while he drew towards him with his left a' 
few proof slips of his forthcoming speech. The Gashwiler 
brow became, as it were, intelligently abstracted. 

The intruder regarded Gashwiler with a glance of familiar 
recognition from his right eye, while his left took in a rapid 
survey of the papers on the table, and gleamed sardoni- 
cally. 

" You are at work, I see," he said apologetically. 

" Yes," replied the Congressman, with an air of perfunc- 
tory weariness — " one of my speeches. Those d — d printers 
make such a mess of it, I suppose I don't write a very fine 
hand." 



6S The Story of a Mine, 

If the gifted Gashwiler had added that he did not write 
a very intelligent hand, or a very grammatical hand, and 
that his spelling was faulty, he would have been truthful, 
although the copy and proof before him might not have 
borne him out. The near fact was, that the speech was 
composed and written by one Expectant Dobbs, a poor 
retainer of Gashwiler, and the honourable member's labour 
as a proof-reader was confined to the introduction of such 
words as " Anarchy," " Oligarchy," " Satrap," " Palladium " 
and " Argus-eyed," in the proof, with little relevancy as to 
position or place, and no perceptible effect as to argument. 

The stranger saw all this with his wicked left eye, but 
continued to beam mildly with his right. Removing the 
coat and waistcoat of Gashwiler from a chair, he drew it 
towards the table, pushing aside a portly, loud-ticking 
watch — the very image of Gashwiler — that lay beside him, 
and resting his elbows on the proofs, said — 

"Well?" 

" Have you anything new ? " asked the Parliamentary 
Gashwiler. 

"Much! a woman !" replied the stranger. 

The astute Gashwiler, waiting further information, con- 
cluded to receive this fact gaily and gallantly. "A 
woman ? — my dear Mr. Wiles — of course ! The dear 
creatures," he continued, with a fat, offensive chuckle, 
"somehow are always making their charming presence felt. 
Ha ! Ha ! A man, sir, in public life becomes accustomed 
to that sort of thing, and knows when he must be agreeable 
— agreeable, sir, but firm ! I've had my experience, sir — 
my own experience," — and the Congressman leaned back 
in his chair, not unlike a robust St. Anthony, who had with- 
stood one temptation to thrive on another. 

"Yes," said Wiles impatiently, "but d — n it, she's on the 
other side." * 



The Story of a Mine. 69 

*' The other side ! " repeated Gashwiler vacantly. 

*' Yes. She's a niece of Garcia's. A little she-deviL" 

*' But Garcia is on our side," rejoined Gashwiler. 

*' Yes ; but she is bought by the Ring." 

"A woman," sneered Mr. Gashwiler, "what can she do 
with men who won't be made fools of? Is she so hand- 
some ? " 

" I never saw any great beauty in her," said Wiles, shortly, 
''although they say that she's rather caught that d — d 
Thatcher, in spite of his coldness. At any rate she is his 
p-otegee. But she isn't the sort you're thinking of, Gash- 
wiler. They say she knows or pretends to know something 
about the grant. She may have got hold of some of her 
uncle's papers. Those Greasers were always d — d fools, 
and if he did anything foolish, like as not he bungled or 
didn't cover up his tracks. And with his knowledge and 
facilities too ! Why if I'd " — but here Mr. Wiles stopped 
to sigh over the inequality of fortune that wasted oppor- 
tunities on the less skilful scamp. 

Mr. Gashwiler became dignified. "She can do nothing 
with us," he said potentially. 

Wiles turned his wicked eye on him. "Manuel and 
Miguel, who sold out to our man, are afraid of her. They 
were our witnesses. I verily believe they'd take back every- 
thing if she got after them. And as for Pedro, he thinks 
she holds the power of life and death over him." 

" Pedro ! Life and death — what's all this ? " said the 
astonished Gashwiler. 

Wiles saw his blunder, but saw also that he had gone too 
far to stop. " Pedro," he said, " was strongly suspected of 
having murdered Concho, one of the original locaters." 

Mr. Gashwiler turned white as a sheet, and then flushed 
again into an apoplectic glow. " Do you dare to say," he 
began as soon as he could find his tongue and his legs, for 



70 The Story of a Mine. 

in the exercise of his congressional functions these extreme 
members supported each other, " do you mean to say," he 
stammered in rising rage, " that you have dared to deceive 
an American lawgiver into legislating upon a measure con- 
nected with a capital offence ? Do I understand you to 
say, sir, that murder stands upon the record — stands upon 
the record, sir — of this cause to which, as a representative 
of Remus, I have lent my official aid ? Do you mean to 
say that you have deceived my constituency, whose sacred 
trust I hold, in inveigling me to hiding a crime from the 
Argus eyes of Justice ? " And Mr. Gashwiler looked towards 
the bell-pull as if about to summon a servant to witness this 
outrage against the established judiciary. 

"The murder, if it ivas a murder, took place before 
Garcia entered upon this claim or had a footing in this 
court," returned Wiles blandly, " and is no part of the 
record." 

" You are sure it is not spread upon the record ! " 

" I am. ■ You can judge for yourself." 

Mr. Gashwiler walked to the window, returned to the 
table, finished his liquor in a single gulp, and then with a 
slight resumption of dignity, said — 

" That alters the case." 

Wiles glanced with his left eye at the Congressman. The 
right placidly looked out of the window. Presently he said 
quietly, " I've brought you the certificates of stock ; do you 
wish them made out in your own name ? " 

Mr. Gashwiler tried hard to look as if he were trying to 
recall the meaning of Wiles' words. " Oh ! — ah ! — umph ! 
— let me see — Oh yes, the certificates — certainly ! Of course 
you will make them out in the name of my secretary, Mr. 
Expectant Dobbs. They will perhaps repay him for the 
extra clerical labour required in the prosecution of your 
claim. He is a worthy young man. Although not a public 



The Stoiy of a Mine. 71 

officer, yet he is so near to me that perhaps I am wrong in 
permitting him to accept a fee for private interests. An 
American representative cannot be too cautious, Mr. Wiles. 
Perhaps you had better have also a blank transfer. The 
stock is, I understand, yet in the future. Mr. Dobbs, 
though talented and praiseworthy, is poor; he may wish 
to realise. If some — ahem ! some friend — better circum- 
stanced should choose to advance the cash to him and run 
the risk — why it would only be an act of kindness." 

"You are proverbially generous, Mr. Gashwiler," said 
Wiles, opening and shutting his left eye, like a dark 
lantern, on the benevolent representative. 

" Youth, when faithful and painstaking, should be 
encouraged," replied Mr. Gashwiler. " I lately had occasion 
to point this out in a few remarks I had to make before 
the Sabbath school reunion at Remus. Thank you, I will 
see that they are — ahem — conveyed to him. I shall give 
them to him with my own hand," he concluded, falling 
back in his chair, as if the better to contemplate the 
perspective of his own generosity and condescension. Mr. 
Wiles took his hat and turned to go. Before he reached 
the door Mr. Gashwiler returned to the social level with a 
chuckle — 

" You say this woman, this Garcia's niece, is handsome 
and smart?" 

"Yes." 

"I can set another woman on the track that'll euchre 
her every time ! " 

Mr. Wiles was too clever to appear to notice the sudden 
lapse in the Congressman's dignity, and only said, with his 
right eye — 

" Can you ? " 

"By G — d I will, or I don't know how to represent 
Remus." 



72 The Story of a Mine. 

Mr. Wiles thanked him with his right eye, looked a 
dagger with his left. "Good," he said, and added per- 
suasively : '' Does she live here ? " 

The Congressman nodded assent. " An awfully hand- 
some woman — a particular friend of mine ! " Mr. Gashwiler 
here looked as if he would not mind to have been raUied 
a little over his intimacy with the fair one, but the astute 
Mr. Wiles was at the same moment making up his mind, 
after interpreting the Congressman's look and manner, that 
he must know this fair incognito if he wished to sway 
Gashwiler. He determined to bide his time. 

The door was scarcely closed upon him when another 
knock diverted Mr. Gashwiler's attention from his proofs. 
The door opened to a young man with sandy hair and 
anxious face. He entered the room deprecatingly, as if 
conscious of the presence of a powerful being, to be 
supplicated and feared. Mr. Gashwiler did not attempt 
to disabuse his mind. " Busy, you see," he said shortly, 
'' correcting your work ! " 

" I hope it is acceptable ! " said the young man, timidly. 

"Well — yes — it will do," said Gashwiler, "indeed I may 
say it is satisfactory on the whole," he added with the 
appearance of a large generosity, "quite satisfactory." 

" You have no news, I suppose," continued the young 
man with a slight flush, born of pride or expectation. 

" No, nothing as yet." Mr. Gashwiler paused as if a 
thought had struck him. 

" I have thought," he said finally, " that some position — 
such as a secretaryship with me — would help you to a 
better appointment. Now, supposing that I make you my 
private secretary, giving you some important and confidevi- 
tial business. Eh ? " 

Dobbs looked at his patron with a certain wistful, dog- 
like expectancy, moved himself excitedly on his chair seat 



The Story of a Mine. 73 

in a peculiar canine-like anticipation of gratitude, strongly 
suggesting that he would have wagged his tail if he had 
had one. At which Mr. Gashwiler became more impressive. 

'' Indeed, I may say I anticipated it by certain papers I 
have put in your charge and in your name, only taking 
from you a transfer — that might enable me to satisfy my 
conscience hereafter in recommending you as my — ahem — 
private secretary. Perhaps as a mere form you might now, 
while you are here, put your name to these transfers, and, 
so to speak, begin your duties at once." 

The glow of pride and hope that mantled the cheek of 
poor Dobbs might have melted a harder heart than 
Gashwiler's. But the Senatorial toga had invested Mr. 
Gashwiler with a more than Roman stoicism towards the 
feelings of others, and he only fell back in his chair in the 
pose of conscious rectitude as Dobbs hurriedly signed the 
paper. 

" I shall place them in my portman-tell," said Gashwiler, 
suiting the word to the action, " for safe keeping. I need 
not inform you, who are now, as it were, on the threshold 
of official life, that perfect and inviolable secrecy in all 
affairs of State " — Mr. G., here motioned toward his port- 
manteau as if it contained a treaty at least — "is most 
essential and necessary." 

Dobbs assented; "Then my duties will keep me with 
you here ? " he asked doubtfully. 

"No — no," said Gashwiler, hastily; then, correcting him- 
self, he added : " that is — for the present — no ! " 

Poor Dobbs' face fell. The near fact was that he had 
lately had notice to quit his present lodgings in consequence 
of arrears in his rent, and he had a hopeful reliance that 
his confidential occupation would carry bread and lodging 
with it. But he only asked if there were any new papers 
to make out. 



74 The Story of a Mine. 

" Ahem ! not at present ; the fact is that I am obliged 
to give so much of my time to callers — I have to-day been 
obliged to see half-a-dozen — that I must lock myself up 
and say ' Not at home ' for the rest of the day." 

Feeling that this was an intimation that the interview 
was over, the new private secretary, a little dashed as to 
his near hopes, but still sanguine of the future, humbly 
took his leave. 

But here a certain Providence, perhaps mindful of poor 
Dobbs, threw into his simple hands — to be used or not, 
if he were worthy or capable of using it — a certain power 
and advantage. He had descended the staircase, and was 
passing through the lower corridor, when he was- made the 
unwilling witness of a remarkable assault. 

It appeared that Mr. Wiles, who had quitted Gashwiler's 
presence as Dobbs was announced, had other business in 
the hotel, and in pursuance of it had knocked at room No. 
90. In response to the gruff voice that bade him enter, 
Mr. Wiles opened the door and espied the figure of a tall, 
muscular, fiery-bearded man extended on the bed, with the 
bed-clothes carefully tucked under his chin and his arms 
lying flat by his side. 

Mr. Wiles beamed with his right cheek, and advanced to 
the bed as if to take the hand of the stranger, who, how- 
ever, neither by word nor sign, responded to his salutation. 

" Perhaps I'm intruding ? " said Mr. Wiles blandly. 

" Perhaps you are," said Red Beard drily. 

Mr. Wiles forced a smile on his right cheek, which he 
turned to the smiter, but permitted the left to indulge in 
unlimited malevolence. " I wanted merely to know if you 
have looked into that matter?" he said meekly. 

" I've looked into it and round it, and across it and over 
it and through it," responded the man gravely, with his 
eyes fixed on Wiles. 



The Story of a Mine, 75 

"And you have perused all the papers?" continued 
Mr. Wiles. 

" I've read every paper, every speech, every affidavit, 
every decision, every argument," said the stranger, as if 
repeating a formula. 

Mr. Wiles attempted to conceal his embarrassment by 
an easy, right-handed smile, that went off sardonically on 
the left, and continued, " Then I hope, my dear sir, that, 
having thoroughly mastered the case, you are inclined to 
be favourable to us ? " 

The gentleman in the bed did not reply, but apparently 
nestled more closely beneath the coverlids. 

"I have brought the shares I spoke of," continued Mr. 
Wiles insinuatingly. 

"Hev you a friend within call?" interrupted the recum- 
bent man gently. 

" I don't quite understand ! " smiled Mr. Wiles. " Of 
course any name you might suggest " 

" Hev you a friend — any chap that you might waltz in 
here at a moment's call?" continued the man in bed. 
"No? Do you know any of them waiters in the house? 
Thar's a bell over yan ! " and he motioned with his eyes 
towards the wall, but did not otherwise move his body. 

" No," said Wiles, becoming slightly suspicious and 
wrathful. 

" Mebbe a stranger might do ? I reckon thar's one 
passin' in the hall. Call him in — he'll do ! " 

Wiles opened the door a little impatiently, yet inquisi- 
tively, as Dobbs passed. The man in bed called out, " O 
stranger!" and as Dobbs stopped, said, "Come 'y^r." 

Dobbs entered a little timidly, as was his habit with 
strangers. 

" I don't know who you be — nor care, I reckon," said 
the stranger. " This yer man " — pointing to Wiles — " is 



76 The Story of a Mine, 

Wiles. I'm Josh Sibblee of Fresno, Member of Congress 
from the 4th Congressional District of Californy. I'm jist 
lying here, with a derringer into each hand — ^jist lying here 
kivered up and holdin' in on'y to keep from blowin' the 
top o' this d — d skunk's head off. I kinder feel I can't 
hold in any longer. What I want to say to ye, stranger, 
is that this yer skunk — which his name is Wiles — hez bin 
tryin' his d — dest to get a bribe onto Josh, and Josh, outo 
respect for his constituents, is jist waitin' for some stranger 
to waltz in and stop the d — dest fight " 

"But, my dear Mr. Sibblee, there must be some mis- 
take," said Wiles earnestly. 

" Mistake ? Strip me ! " 

" No ! no ! " said Wiles hurriedly, as the simple-minded 
Dobbs was about to draw down the coverlid. 

"Take him away," said the Honourable Mr. Sibblee, 
" before I disgrace my constituency. They said I'd be in jail 
'afore I get through the session. Ef you've got any 
humanity, stranger, snake him out, and pow'ful quick too." 

Dobbs, quite white and aghast, looked at Wiles and 
hesitated. There was a slight movement in the bed. 
Both men started for the door, and the next minute it 
closed very decidedly on the member from Fresno. 



CHAPTER XI. 

HOW IT WAS LOBBIED FOR. 

The Honourable Pratt C. Gashwiler, M.C., was of course 
unaware of the incident described in the last chapter. His 
secret, even if it had been discovered by Dobbs, was safe in 
that gentleman's innocent and honourable hands, and cer- 
tainly was not of a quality that Mr. Wiles, at present, would 
have cared to expose. For, in spite of Mr. Wiles' discom- 



The Story of a Mine. yj 

fiture, he still had enough experience of character to know 
that the irate member from Fresno would be satisfied with 
his own peculiar manner of vindicating his own personal 
integrity, and would not make a public scandal of it. 
Again, Wiles was convinced that Dobbs was equally 
implicated with Gashwiler, and would be silent for his own 
sake. So that poor Dobbs, as is too often the fate of 
simple but weak natures, had full credit for duplicity by 
every rascal in the land. 

From which it may be inferred that nothing occurred to 
disturb the security of Gashwiler. When the door closed 
upon Mr. Wiles he indited a note, which, with a costly but 
exceedingly distasteful bouquet — re-arranged by his own 
fat fingers, and discord and incongruity visible in every 
combination of colour — he sent off by a special messenger. 
Then he proceeded to make his toilet — an operation rarely 
graceful or picturesque in our sex, and an insult to the 
spectator when obesity is superadded. When he had put 
on a clean shirt, of which there was grossly too much, and 
added a white waistcoat, that seemed to accent his rotun- 
dity, he completed his attire with a black frock coat of the 
latest style, and surveyed himself complacently before a 
mirror. It is to be recorded that, however satisfactory the 
result may have been to Mr. Gashwiler, it was not so to 
the disinterested spectator. There are some men on whom 
" that deformed thief, Fashion," avenges himself by making 
their clothes appear perennially new. The gloss of the 
tailor's iron never disappears ; the creases of the shelf 
perpetually rise in judgment against the wearer. Novelty 
was the general suggestion of Mr. Gashwiler's full dress — 
it was never his habitude — and " Our own Make," "Nobby," 
and the "Latest Style, only $15," was as patent on the 
legislator's broad back as if it still retained the shopman's 
ticket. 



78 The Story of a Mine, 

Thus arrayed, within an hour he complacently followed 
the note and his floral offering. The house he sought had 
been once the residence of a foreign ambassador, who had 
loyally represented his government in a single unimportant 
treaty, now forgotten, and in various receptions and dinners, 
still actively remembered by occasional visitors to its salon, 
now the average dreary American parlour. " Dear me," 
the fascinating Mr. X. would say, " but do you know, love, 
in this very room I remember meeting the distinguished 
Marquis of Monte Pio," or perhaps the fashionable Jones 
of the State Department instantly crushed the decayed 
friend he was perfunctorily visiting, by saying, " Ton my 
soul, you here — why the last time I was in this room I gos- 
siped for an hour with the Countess de Castenet in that 
very corner." For with the recall of the aforesaid Ambas- 
sador the mansion had become a boarding-house, kept by 
the wife of a departmental clerk. 

Perhaps there was nothing in the history of the house 
more quaint and philosophic than the story of its present 
occupant. Rogar Fauquier had been a departmental clerk 
for forty years. It was at once his practical good luck and 
his misfortune to have been early appointed to a position 
which required a thorough and complete knowledge of the 
formulas and routine of a department that expended milHons 
of the public funds. Fauquier, on a poor salary, diminish- 
ing instead of increasing with his service, had seen suc- 
cessive Administrations bud and blossom and decay, but 
had kept his position through the fact that his knowledge 
was a necessity to the successive chiefs and employees. 
Once it was true that he had been summarily removed by 
a new Secretary, to make room for a camp follower, whose 
exhaustive and intellectual services in a political campaign 
had made him eminently fit for anything, but the alarming 
discovery that the new clerk's knowledge of grammar and 



The Story of a Mine. 79 

etymology was even worse than that of the Secretary him- 
self, and that, through ignorance of detail, the business of 
that department was retarded to a damage to the Govern- 
ment of over half a million of dollars, led to the reinstate- 
ment of Mr. Fauquier — at a lower salary. For it was felt 
that something was wrong somewhere, and as it had 
always been the custom of Congress and the Administra- 
tion to cut down salaries as the first step to reform, they 
made of Mr. Fauquier a moral example. A gentleman 
born, of somewhat expensive tastes, having lived up to 
his former salary, this change brought another bread-winner 
into the field, Mrs. Fauquier, who tried, more or less un- 
successfully, to turn her old Southern habits of hospitahty 
to remunerative account. But as poor Fauquier could 
never be prevailed upon to present a bill to a gentleman, 
Sir, and as some of the scions of the best Southern families 
were still waiting for, or had been recently dismissed from 
a position, the experiment was a pecuniary failure. Yet 
the house was of excellent repute and well patronised ; 
indeed, it was worth something to see old Fauquier sitting 
at the head in his ancestral style, relating anecdotes of 
great men now dead and gone, interrupted only by occa- 
sional visits from importunate tradesmen. 

Prominent among what Mr. Fauquier called his "little 
family," was a black-eyed lady of great powers of fascina- 
tion, and considerable local reputation as a flirt. Never- 
theless, these social aberrations were amply condoned by 
a facile and complacent husband, who looked with a lenient 
and even admiring eye upon the little lady's amusement, 
and to a certain extent lent a tacit indorsement to her 
conduct. Nobody minded Hopkinson ; in the blaze of 
Mrs. Hopkinson's fascinations he was completely lost sight 
of. A few married women with unduly sensitive husbands, 
and several single ladies of the best and longest standing. 



8o The Story of d Mine. 

reflected severely on her conduct. The younger men of 
course admired her, but I think she got her chief support 
from old fogies like ourselves. For it is your quiet, self- 
conceited, complacent, philosophic, broad-waisted pater- 
familias who, after all, is the one to whom the gay and 
giddy of the proverbially impulsive, unselfish sex owe their 
place in the social firmament. We are not inclined to be 
captious j we. laugh at as a folly what our wives and 
daughters condemn as a fault ; our " withers are unwrung," 
yet we still confess to the fascinations of a pretty face. 
We know, bless us, from dear experience, the exact value 
of one woman's opinion of another j we want our brilliant 
little friend to shine ; it is only the moths who will burn 
their two-penny immature wings in the flame ! And why 
should they not ? Nature has been pleased to supply more 
moths than candles ! Go to ! — give the pretty creature — 
be she maid, wife or widow, a show ! And so, my dear 
sir, while materfainilias bends her black brows in disgust, 
we smile our superior little smile, and extend to Mistress 
Anonyma our gracious indorsement. And if Giddiness is 
grateful, or if Folly is friendly — well, of course, we can't 
help that. Indeed it rather proves our theory. 

I had intended to say something about Hopkinson, but 
really there is very little to say. He was invariably good- 
humoured. A few ladies once tried to show him that he 
really ought to feel worse than he did about the conduct of 
his wife, and it is recorded that Hopkinson, in an excess of 
good-humour and kindliness, promised to do so. Indeed 
the good fellow was so accessible that it is said that young 
De Lancy of the Tape Department confided to Hopkinson 
his jealousy of a rival, and revealed the awful secret that 
he (De Lancy) had reason to expect more loyalty from his 
(Hopkinson's) wife. The good fellow is reported to have 
been very sympathetic, and to have promised De Lancy to 



The Story of a Mine. 8i 

lend whatever influence he had with Mrs. Hopkinson in his 
favour. "You see," he said explanatorily to De Lancy, 
" she has a good deal to attend to lately, and I suppose has 
got rather careless — that's women's ways. But if / can't 
bring her round I'll speak to Gashwiler — I'll get him to use 
his influence with Mrs. Hop. So cheer up, my boy, he'll 
make it all right." 

" The appearance of a bouquet on the table of Mrs. 
Hopkinson was no rare event ; nevertheless ]Mr. Gashwiler's 
was not there. Its hideous contrasts had offended her 
woman's eye — it is observable that good taste survives the 
wreck of all the other feminine virtues — and she had dis- 
tributed it to make boutonnieres for other gentlemen. Yet 
when he appeared she said to him hastily, putting her little 
hand over the cardiac region — 

'^ I'm so glad you came. But you gave me such a fright 
an hour ago." 

Mr. Gashwiler was both pleased and astounded. "What 
have I done, my dear Mrs. Hopkinson?" he began. 

" Oh, don't talk," she said sadly. " What have you done ? 
indeed ! Why, you sent me that beautiful bouquet. I 
could not mistake your taste in the arrangement of the 
flowers — but my husband was here. You know his jealousy. 
I was obliged to conceal it from him. A^ever — promise me 
now — never do it again." 

Mr. Gashwiler gallantly protested. 

" No ! I am serious ! I was so agitated ; he must have 
seen me blush." 

Nothing but the gross flattery of this speech could have 
clouded its manifest absurdity to the Gashwdler conscious- 
ness. But Mr. Gashwiler had already succumbed to the 
girlish half-timidity with which it was uttered. Neverthe- 
less, he could not help saying — 

"But why should he be so jealous now? Only day 

VOL. V. F ' 



82 The Story of a Mine, 

before yesterday I saw Simpson of Duluth hand you a nose- 
gay right before him ! " 

"Ah," returned the lady, "he was outwardly calm then^ 
but you know nothing of the scene that occurred between 
us after you left." 

"But," gasped the practical Gashwiler, "Simpson had 
given your husband that contract — a cool fifty thousand in 
his pocket ! " 

Mrs. Hopkinson looked as dignifiedly at Gashwiler as 
was consistent with five feet three (the extra three inches 
being a pyramidal structure of straw-coloured hair), a frond 
of faint curls, a pair of laughing blue eyes and a small belted 
waist. Then she said, with a casting down of her lids — 

"You forget that my husband loves me." And for once 
the minx appeared to look penitent. It was becoming, but 
as it had been originally practised in a simple white dress, 
relieved only with pale blue ribbons, it was not entirely in 
keeping with befiounced lavender and rose-coloured trim- 
mings. Yet the woman who hesitates between her moral 
expression and the harmony of her dress is lost. And Mrs. 
Hopkinson was victrix by her very audacity. 

Mr. Gashwiler was flattered. The most dissolute man 
likes the appearance of virtue. " But graces and accom- 
plishments like yours, dear Mrs. Hopkinson," he said 
oleaginously, "belong to the whole country." Which, 
with something between a courtesy and a strut, he endeav- 
oured to represent. "And I shall want to avail myself of 
all," he added, " in the matter of the Castro claim. A Httle 
supper at Welcker's, a glass or two of champagne, and a 
single flash of those bright eyes, and the thing is done." 

" But," said Mrs. Hopkinson, " I've promised Josiah that 
I would give up all those frivolities, and although my con- 
science is clear, you know how people talk ! Josiah hears 
it. Why, only last night, at a reception at the Patagonian 



The Story of a Mhie. 8 



o 



Minister's, every woman in the room gossiped about me 
because I led the German with him. As if a married 
woman, whose husband was interested in the Government, 
could not be civil to the representative of a friendly- 
power?" 

Mr. Gashwiler did not see how Mr. Hopkinson's late 
contract for supplying salt pork and canned provisions to 
the army of the United States should make his wife suscep- 
tible to the advances of foreign princes, but he prudently 
kept that to himself. Still, not being himself a diplomate, 
he could not help saying — 

" But I understood that Mr. Hopkinson did not object 
to your interesting yourself in this claim, and you know 
some of the stock" 

The lady started, and said — 

" Stock ! Dear Mr. Gashwiler, for heaven's sake don't 
mention that hideous name to me. Stock ! I am sick of 
it ! Have you gentlemen no other topic for a lady ? " 

She punctuated her sentence with a mischievous look at 
her interlocutor. For a second time, I regret to say that 
Mr. Gashwiler succumbed. The Roman constituency at 
Remus, it is to be hoped, were happily ignorant of this last 
defection of their great legislator. Mr. Gashwiler instantly 
forgot his theme — began to ply the lady with a certain 
bovine-like gallantry, which, it is to be said to her credit, 
she parried with a playful, terrier-like dexterity, when the 
servant suddenly announced, " Mr. Wiles." 

Gashwiler started. Not so Mrs. Hopkinson, who, how- 
ever, prudently and quietly removed her own chair several 
inches from Gashwiler's. 

"Do you know Mr. Wiles?" she asked pleasantly. 

" No ! That is, I — ah — yes, I may say I have had some 
business relations with him," responded Gashwiler, rising. 

" Won't you stay ? " she added pleadinglf. " Do ! " 



84 The Story of a Mine. 

Mr. Gashwiler's prudence always got the better of his 
gallantry. " Not now," he responded, m some nervousness. 
" Perhaps I had better go now, in view of what you have 
just said about gossip. You need not mention my name to 
this-er — this — Mr. Wiles." And with one eye on the door 
and an awkward dash of his at the lady's fingers, he 
withdrew. 

There was no introductory formula to Mr. Wiles' inter- 
view. He dashed at once in medias res. " Gashwiler 
knows a woman that, he says, can help us against that 
Spanish girl who is coming here with proofs, prettiness, 
fascinations and what not? You must find her out." 

"Why?" asked the lady laughingly. 

" Because I don't trust that Gashwiler. A woman with 
a pretty face and an ounce of brains could sell him out ; 
ay, and us with him." 

" Oh, say two ounces of brains. Mr. Wiles, Mr. Gash- 
wiler is no fool." 

*' Possibly, except when your sex is concerned, and it is 
very likely that this woman is his superior." 

" I should think so," said Mrs. Hopkinson with a mis- 
chievous look. 

" Ah, you know her, then ? " 

"Not so well as I know him," said Mrs. H., quite 
seriously. "I wish I did." 

" Well, you'll find out if she's to be trusted ! You are 
laughing — it is a serious matter ! This woman " 

Mrs. Hopkinson dropped him a charming courtsey and 
said — 

'' Cestmoi!'' 



The Story of a Mine. 85 



CHAPTER XII. 

A RACE FOR IT. 

Royal Thatcher worked hard. That the boyish little 
painter who shared his hospitality at the "Blue Mass" 
mine should afterward have little part in his active life, 
seemed not inconsistent with his habits. At present the 
mine was his only mistress, claiming his entire time, 
exasperating him with fickleness, but still requiring that 
supreme devotion of which his nature was capable. It is 
possible that Miss Carmen saw this too, and so set about 
with feminine tact, if not to supplement, at least to make 
her rival less pertinacious and absorbing. Apart from this 
object she zealously laboured in her profession, yet with 
small pecuniary result, I fear. Local art was at a discount 
in California. The scenery of the country had not yet 
become famo^jis ; rather it was reserved for a certain 
Eastern artist, already famous, to make it so, and people 
cared little for the reproduction, under their very noses, 
of that which they saw continually with their own eyes and 
valued not. So that little Mistress Carmen was fain to 
divert her artist soul to support her plump little material 
body, and made divers excursions into the region of 
ceramic art, painting on velvet, illuminating missals, decor- 
ating china, and the like. I have in my possession some 
wax-flowers — a startling fuchsia, and a bewildering dahlia — 
sold for a mere pittance by this little lady, whose pictures 
lately took the prize at a foreign exhibition, shortly after 
she had been half-starved by a California public, and 
claimed by a California press as its fostered child of 
genius. 

Of these struggles and triumphs Thatcher had no know- 
ledge, yet he was perhaps more startled than he would 



86 The Story of a Mine. 

own to himself, when, one December day, he received this 
despatch : 

" Come to Washington at once. Carmen de Haro." 
" Carmen de Haro ! " I grieve to state that such was 
the pre-occupation of this man, elected by fate to be the 
hero of the solitary amatory episode of this story, that for 
a moment he could not recall her. When the honest little 
figure that had so manfully stood up against him, and had 
proved her sex by afterwards running away from him, 
came back at last to his memory, he was at first mystified 
and then self-reproachful. He had been, he felt vaguely, 
untrue to himself. He had been remiss to the self-con- 
fessed daughter of his enemy. Yet why should she tele- 
graph to him, and what was she doing in Washington ? 
To all these speculations, it is to be said to his credit, that 
he looked for no sentimental or romantic answer. Royal 
Thatcher was naturally modest and self-depreciating in his 
relations to the other sex, as indeed most^men, who are 
apt to be successful with women, generally are — despite a 
vast degree of superannuated bosh to the contrary. In 
the half-dozen women who are startled by sheer audacity 
into submission, there are scores who are piqued by a self- 
respectful patience. And where a woman has to do half 
the wooing, she generally makes a pretty sure thing of it. 

In his bewilderment Thatcher had overlooked a letter 
lying on his table. It was from his Washington lawyer. 
The concluding paragraph caught his eye — "Perhaps it 
would be well if you came here yourself; Roscommon is 
here, and they say there is a niece of Garcia's, lately 
appeared, who is likely to get up a strong social sympathy 
for the old Mexican. I don't know that they expect to 
prove anything by her, but Tm told she is attractive and 
clever, and has enUsted the sympathies of the delegation." 
Thatcher laid the letter down a little indignantly. Strong 



The Story of a Mine, Sy 

men are quite as liable as weak women are to sudden 
inconsistencies on any question they may have in common. 
What right had this poor little bud he had cherished — he 
was quite satisfied now that he had cherished her, and 
really had suffered from her absence — what right had she 
to suddenly blossom in the sunshine of power, to be, per- 
haps, plucked and worn by one of his enemies. He did 
not agree with his lawyer that she was in any way connected 
with his enemies ; he trusted to her masculine loyalty that 
far. But here was something vaguely dangerous to the 
feminine mind — position, flattery, power. He was almost 
as firmly satisfied now that he had been wronged and 
neglected as he had been positive a few moments before 
that he had been remiss in his attention. The irritation, 
although momentary, was enough to decide this strong 
man ; he telegraphed to San Francisco, and having missed 
the steamer, secured an overland passage to Washington ; 
thought better of it, and partly changed his mind an hour 
after the ticket was purchased — but, manlike, having once 
made a practical step in a wrong direction, he kept on 
rather than admit an inconsistency to himself. Yet he 
was not entirely satisfied that his journey was a business 
one. The impulsive, weak little Mistress Carmen had 
evidently scored one against the strong man. 

Only a small part of the present great transcontinental 
railway at this time had been built, and was but piers at 
either end of a desolate and wild expanse as yet unbridged. 
When the overland traveller left the rail at Reno, he left, 
as it were, civilisation with it, and until he reached the 
Nebraska frontier, the rest of his road was only the old 
emigrant trail traversed by the coaches of the Overland 
Company. Excepting a part of " Devil's Canon," the way 
was unpicturesque and flat, and the passage of the Rocky 
Mountains, far from suggesting the alleged poetry of that 



88 The Story of a Mine, 

region, was only a reminder of those sterile distances of a 
level New England landscape. The journey was a dreary 
monotony, that was scarcely enlivened by its discomforts, 
never amounting to actual accident or incident, but utterly 
destructive to all nervous tissue. Insanity often super- 
vened. " On the third day out," said Hank Monk, driver, 
speaking casually but charitably of a "fare" — "on the 
third day out, after axing no end of questions and getting 
no answers, he took to chewing straws that he picked outer 
the cushion, and kinder cussin' to hisself. From that very 
day I knew it was all over with him, and I handed him 
over to his friends at ' Shy Ann,' strapped to the back 
seat, and ravin' and cussin' at Ben Holliday, the gent'manly 
proprietor." It is presumed that the unfortunate tourist's 
indignation was excited at the late Mr. Benjamin Holliday, 
then the proprietor of the line — an evidence of his insanity 
that no one who knew that large-hearted, fastidious, and 
elegantly cultured Californian, since allied to foreign 
nobility, will for a moment doubt. 

Mr. Royal Thatcher was too old and experienced a 
mountaineer to do aught but accept patiently and cynically 
his brother Californian's method of increasing his profits. 
As it was generally understood that any one who came 
from California by that route had some dark design, the 
victim received little sympathy. Thatcher's equable tem- 
perament and indomitable will stood him in good stead, 
and helped him cheerfully in this emergency. He ate his 
scant meals, and otherwise took care of the functions of 
his weak human nature, when and where he could, v/ithout 
grumbling, and at times earned even the praise of his 
driver by his ability to "rough it." Which "roughing it," 
by the way, meant the abiUty of the passenger to accept 
the incompetency of the company. It is true there were 
times when he regretted that he had not taken the steamer, 



The Story of a Mine. 89 

but then he reflected that he was one of a Vigilance 
Committee, sworn to hang that admirable man, the late 
Commodore William H. Vanderbilt, for certain practices 
and cruelties done upon the bodies of certain steerage 
passengers by his line, and for divers irregularities in their 
transportation. I mention this fact merely to show how 
so practical and stout a voyager as Thatcher might have 
confounded the perplexities attending the administration 
of a great steamship company with selfish greed and 
brutality, and that he, with other Californians, may not 
have known the fact, since recorded by the Commodore's 
family clergyman, that the great milHonaire was always 
true to the hymns of his childhood. 

Nevertheless Thatcher found time to be cheerful and 
helpful to his fellow passengers, and even to be so far 
interesting to " Yuba Bill," driver, as to have the box seat 
placed at his disposal. " But," said Thatcher, in some 
concern, " the box seat was purchased by that other gentle- 
man in Sacramento. He paid extra for it, and his name's 
on your way-bill!" "That," said Yuba Bill, scornfully, 
''don't fetch me even ef he'd chartered the whole shebang. 
Look yar, do you reckon I'm goin' to spile my temper by 
setting next to a man with a game eye. And such an eye ! 
Gewhillikins ! Why, darn my skin, the other day when we 
war watering at Webster's, he got down and passed in front 
of the off leader — that ^^i pinto colt that's bin accustomed 
to injins, grizzlies and buffalo, and I'm blest ef, when her 
eye tackled his, ef she didn't jist git up and rar 'round, that 
I reckoned I'd hev to go down and take them blinders off 
from her eyes and clap 'em on his." "But he paid his 
money and is entitled to his seat," persisted Thatcher. 
"Mebbe he is — in the office of the kempeny," growled 
Yuba Bill, "but it's time some folks knowed that out in 
the plains I run this yer team myself" A fact which was 



go The Story of a Mine, 

self-evident to most of the passengers. " I suppose his 
authority is as absolute on this dreary waste as the captain 
of a ship's in mid-ocean," explained Thatcher to the baleful- 
eyed stranger. Mr. Wiles — whom the reader has recognised 
— assented with the public side of his face, but looked 
vengeance at Yuba Bill with the other, while Thatcher, 
innocent of the presence of one of his worst enemies, 
placated Bill so far as to restore Wiles to his rights. Wiles 
thanked him. " Shall I have the pleasure of your company 
far? " Wiles asked insinuatingly. " To Washington," replied 
Thatcher frankly. "Washington is a gay city during the 
session," again suggested the stranger. " I'm going on busi- 
ness," said Thatcher bluntly. 

A trifling incident occurred at Pine Tree Crossing which 
did not heighten Yuba Bill's admiration of the stranger. 
As Bill opened the double-locked box in the "boot" of the 
coach — sacred to Wells, Fargo & Co.'s Express and the 
Overland Company's treasures — Mr. Wiles perceived a 
small, black morocco portmanteau among the parcels. 
" Ah, you carry baggage there too ? " he said sweetly. 
" Not often," responded Yuba Bill shortly. " Ah, this then 
contains valuables?" " It belongs to that man whose seat 
you've got," said Yuba Bill, who, for insulting purposes of 
his own, preferred to establish the fiction that Wiles was an 
interloper, " and ef he reckons, in a sorter mixed kempeny 
like this, to lock up his portmantle, I don't know who's 
business it is. Who? " continued Bill, lashing himself into 
a simulated rage, " who, in blank, is running this yer team ? 
Hey ? Mebbe you think, sittin' up thar on the box-seat, you 
are. Mebbe you think you kin see 'round corners with that 
thar eye, and kin pull up for teams 'round corners, on down 
grades, a mile ahead ? " But here Thatcher, who with some- 
thing of Launcelot's concern for Modred, had a noble pity 
for all infirmities, interfered so sternly that Yuba Bill stopped. 



The Story of a Mine, 91 

On the fourth day they struck a bhnding snow storm 
while ascending the dreary plateau that henceforward for 
six hundred miles was to be their road bed. The horses, 
after floundering through the drift, gave out completely on 
reaching the next station, and the prospects ahead, to all 
but the experienced eye, looked doubtful. A few passengers 
advised taking to sledges, others a postponement of the 
journey until the weather changed. Yuba Bill alone was 
for pressing forward as they w^ere. " Two miles more and 
we're on the high grade, whar the wind is strong enough to 
blow you through the windy and jist peart enough to pack 
away over them cliffs every inch of snow- that falls. I'll 
jist skirmish round in and out o' them drifts on these four 
wheels, whar ye can't drag one o' them flat-bottomed dry 
goods boxes through a drift." Bill had a Cahfornia whip's 
contempt for a sledge. But he was warmly seconded by 
Thatcher, who had the next best thing to experience, the 
instinct that taught him to read character, and take advan- 
tage of another man's experience. " Them that wants to 
stop kin do so," said Bill, authoritatively, cutting the 
Gordian knot, " them as wants to take a sledge can do so — 
thar's one in the barn. Them as wants to go on with me 
and the relay will come on." Mr. Wiles selected the 
sledge and a driver, a few remained for the next stage, and 
Thatcher, with two others, decided to accompany Yuba 
Bill. These changes took up some valuable time, and the 
storm continuing, the stage was run under the shed, the 
passengers gathering around the station fire, and not until 
after midnight did Yuba Bill put in the relays. '' I wish 
you a good journey," said Wiles, as he drove from the shed 
as Bill entered. Bill vouchsafed no reply, but addressing 
himself to the driver, said curtly, as if giving an order for 
the delivery of goods, " Shove him out at RawUngs," passed 



92 The Story of a Mine. 

contemptuously around to the tail-board of the sled and 
returned to the harnessing of his relay. 

The moon came out and shone high as Yuba Bill once 
more took the reins in his hands. The wind, which in- 
stantly attacked them- as they reached the level, seemed to 
make the driver's theory plausible, and for half a mile the 
road bed was swept clean and frozen hard. Farther on a 
tongue of snow extending from a boulder to the right, 
reached across their path to the height of two or three feet. 
But Yuba Bill dashed through a part of it, and by skilful 
manoeuvring circumvented the rest. But even as the 
obstacle was passed the coach dropped with an ominous 
lurch on one side, and the off fore wheel flew off in the 
darkness. Bill threw the horses back on their haunches, 
but before their momentum could be checked the rear hind 
wheel slipped away, the vehicle rocked violently, plunged 
backwards and forwards, and stopped. 

Yuba Bill was on the road in an instant with his lantern. 
Then followed an outbreak of profanity which I regret, for 
artistic purposes, exceeds that generous limit which a 
sympathising pubHc has already extended to me in the 
exphcation of character. Let me state, therefore, that in a 
very few moments he succeeded in disparaging the charac- 
ters of his employers, their male and female relatives, the 
coach builder, the station keeper, the road on which he 
travelled and the travellers themselves, with occasional broad 
expletives addressed to himself and his own relatives. For 
the spirit of this and a more cultivated poetry of expression, I 
beg to refer the temperate reader to the 3d chapter of Job. 

The passengers knew Bill, and sat, conservative, patient 
and expectant. As yet the cause of the catastrophe was not 
known. At last Thatcher's voice came from the box-seat — 

"What's up, Bill?'' 



The Story of a Mine. 93 

" Not a blank linch-pin in the whole blank coach," was 
the answer. 

There was a dead silence. Yuba Bill executed a wild 
war dance of helpless rage. 

'•' Blank the blank enchanted thing to blank ! " 

(I beg here to refer the fastidious and cultivated reader 
to the only adjective I have dared transcribe of this actual 
oath which I once had the honour of hearing. He will, I 
trust, not fail to recognise the old classic dcemon in this 
wild Western objurgation.) 

" Who did it ? " asked Thatcher. 

Yuba Bill did not reply, but dashed up again to the box, 
unlocked the " boot," and screamed out — 

" The man that stole your portmantle — Wiles ! " 

Thatcher laughed — 

" Don't worry about that. Bill. A ' biled' shirt, an extra 
collar and a few papers. Nothing more." 

Yuba Bill slowly descended. When he reached the 
ground he plucked Thatcher aside by his coat sleeve — 

" Ye don't mean to say ye had nothing in that bag ye 
waz trj'ing to get away with ? " 

" No," said the laughing Thatcher frankly. 

"And that Wiles warn't one '0 them detectives?" 

" Not to my knowledge, certainly." 

Yuba Bill sighed sadly and returned to assist in the 
replacing of the coach on its wheels again. 

*' Never mind. Bill," said one of the passengers sympathis- 
ingly, '■ we'll catch that man Wiles at ' Rawlings ' sure," 
and he looked around at the inchoate vigilance committee 
already " rounding into form " about him. 

" Ketch him ! " returned Yuba Bill derisively, " why 
we've got to go back to the station, and afore we're off agin 
he's pinted fur Clarmont on the relay we lose. Ketch 
him ! H— ll's full of such ketches !" 



94 The Story of a Mine. 

There was clearly nothing to do but to go back to the 
station to await the repairing of the coach. While this 
was being done Yuba Bill again drew Thatcher aside — 

"I allers suspected that chap's game eye, but I didn't 
somehow allow for anything like this. I reckoned it was 
only the square thing to look arter things generally, and 
'specially your traps. So, to purvent troubil and keep 
things about 'ekal, ez he was goin' away, I sorter lifted this 
yer bag of hiz outer the tail-board of his sleigh. I don't 
know as its any ex-change or compensation, but it may 
give ye a chance to spot him agin, or him you. It strikes 
me as bein' far-minded and squar," and with these words 
he deposited at the feet of the astounded Thatcher the black 
travelling bag of Mr. Wiles. 

" But, Bill — see here ! I can't take this ! " interrupted 
Thatcher hastily. " You can't swear that he's taken my 
bag — and — and — blank it all — this won't do, you know. 
I've no right to this man's things, even if" 

" Hold your bosses," said Bill gravely, " I ondertook to 
take charge o' your traps. I didn't — at least that d — d 
wall eyed — Thar's a portmantle. I don't know who's it is. 
Take it." 

Half amused, half embarrassed, yet still protesting, 
Thatcher took the bag in his hands. 

"Ye might open it in my presence," suggested Yuba 
Bill gravely. 

Thatcher, half-laughingly, did so. It was full of papers 
and semi-legal looking documents. Thatcher's own name 
on one of them caught his eye ; he opened the paper hastily 
and perused it. The smile faded from his lips. 

" Well," said Yuba Bill," suppose we call it a fair exchange 
at present." 

Thatcher was still examining the papers. Suddenly this 
cautious, strong-minded man looked up into Yuba Bill's 



The Story of a Mine. 95 

waiting face, and said quietly, in the despicable slang of the 
epoch and region — 

" It's a go ! Suppose we do." 



CHAPTER XIIi; 

HOW IT BECAME FAMOUS. 

Yuba Bill was right in believing that Wiles would lose no 
time at Ravvhngs. He left there on a fleet horse before 
Bill had returned with the broken-down coach to the last 
station, and distanced the telegram sent to detain him two 
hours. Leaving the stage road and its dangerous tele- 
graphic stations, he pushed southward to Denver over the 
army trail, in company with a half-breed packer, crossing 
the Missouri before Thatcher had reached Julesburg. 
When Thatcher was at Omaha, Wiles was already in St, 
Louis, and as the Pullman car containing the hero of the 
" Blue Mass Mine " rolled into Chicago, Wiles was already 
walking the streets of the National Capital. Nevertheless 
he had time en route to sink in the waters of the North 
Platte, with many expressions of disgust, the little black 
portmanteau belonging to Thatcher, containing his dressing 
case, a few unimportant letters and an extra shirt, to 
wonder why simple men did not travel with their important 
documents and valuables, and to set on foot some prudent 
and cautious inquiries regarding his own lost carpet-bag 
and its important contents. 

But for these trifles he had every reason to be satisfied 
with the progress of his plans. " It's all right," said Mrs. 
Hopkinson merrily, " while you and Gashwiler have been 
working with your 'stock' and treating the whole world as 
if it could be bribed, I've done more with that earnest, 
self-believing, self-deceiving and perfectly pathetic Ros- 



gd The Story of a Mine, 

common than all you fellows put together. Why I've told 
his pitiful story and drawn tears from the eyes of senators 
and cabinet ministers. More than that, I've introduced 
him into society, put him in a dress coat — such a figure — 
and you know how the best folk worship everything that is 
oiUre as the sincere thing ; I've made him a complete suc- 
cess. Why, only the other night, when Senator Misnancy 
and Judge Fitzdawdle were here, after making him tell his 
story — which you know I think he really believes — I sang, 
* There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,' and my 
husband told me afterwards it was worth at least a dozen 
votes." 

" But about this rival of yours — this niece of Garcia's ? " 

" Another of your blunders — you men know nothing of 
women. Firstly, she's a swarthy little brunette, with dots 
for eyes, and strides like a man, dresses like a dowdy, don't 
wear stays and has no style. Then she's a single woman 
and alone, and although she affects to be an artist and has 
Bohemian ways, don't you see she can't go into society with- 
out a chaperon or somebody to go with her. Nonsense." 

"But," persisted Wiles, "she must have some power; 
there's Judge Mason and Senator Peabody, who are con- 
stantly talking about her, and Dinwiddle of Virginia 
escorted her through the Capitol the other day." 

Mistress Hopkinson laughed. " Mason and Peabody 
aspire to be thought literary and artistic, and. Dinwiddle 
wanted to pique 7?ie ! " 

" But Thatcher is no fool" 

" Is Thatcher a lady's man ? " queried the lady sud- 
denly. 

" Hardly, I should say," responded Wiles. " He pre- 
tends to be absorbed in his swindle and devoted to his 
mine, and I don't think that even you " — he stopped with 
a slight sneer. 



The Story of a Mine, 97 

" There, you are misunderstanding me again, and what 
is worse, you are misunderstanding your case. Thatcher is 
pleased with her because he has probably seen no one else. 
Wait till he comes to Washington and has an opportunity 
for comparison," and she cast a frank glance at her mirror, 
where Wiles, with a sardonic bow, left her standing. 

Mr. Gashwiler was quite as confident of his own success 
with Congress. "We are within a few days of the end of 
the session. We will manage to have it taken up ana 
rushed through before that fellow Thatcher knows what he 
is about." 

*' If it could be done before he gets here," said Wiles, 
" it's a reasonably sure thing. He is delayed two days — 
he might have been delayed longer.'^ Here Mr. Wiles 
sighed ; if the accident had happened on a mountain road., 
and the stage had been precipitated over the abyss ? What 
valuable time would have been saved and success become 
a surety. But Mr. Wiles' functions as an advocate did not 
include murder; at least he was doubtful if it could be 
taxed as costs. 

" We need have no fears, sir," resumed Mr. Gashwiler, 
*' the matter is now in the hands of the highest tribunal of 
appeal in the country. It will meet, sir^ with infle?:ible 
justice. I have already prepared some remarks " 

" By the way," interrupted Wiles infelicitously, " where's 
your young man — your private secretary — Dobbs ? " 

The Congressman for a moment looked confused. "He 
is not here. And I must correct your error in applying 
that term to him, I have never put my confidence in the 
hands of any one." 

" But you introduced him to me as your secretary ? " 

" A mere honorary title, sir. A brevet rank. I might, 
it is true, have thought to repose such a trust in him. But 
I was deceived, sir, as I fear I am too apt to be when I 

VOL. v. G 



98 The Story of a Mine. 

permit my feelings as a man to overcome my duty as an 
American legislator. Mr. Dobbs enjoyed my patronage 
and the opportunity it gave me to introduce him into 
public life only to abuse it. He became, 1 fear, deeply 
indebted. His extravagance was unlimited, his ambition 
unbounded, but without, sir, a cash basis. I advanced 
money to him from time to time upon the Httle property 
you so generously extended to him for his services. But 
it was quietly dissipated. Yet, sir, such is the ingratitude 
of man that his family lately appealed to me for assistance. 
I felt it was necessary to be stern, and I refused. I would 
not for the sake of his family say anything, but I have 
missed, sir, books from my library. On the day after he 
left two volumes of Patent Office reports and a Blue 
Book of Congress, purchased that day by me at a store 
on Pennsylvania avenue, were missing — missing ! I had 
difficulty, sir, great difficulty in keeping it from the 
papers ! " 

As Mr. Wiles had heard the story already from Gashwiler's 
acquaintance, with more or less free comment on the gifted 
legislator's economy, he could not help thinking that the 
difficulty had been great indeed. But he only fixed his 
malevolent eye on Gashwiler and said — 

" So he is gone, eh ? " 

*' Yes." 

"And you've made an enemy of him ? That's bad." 

Mr. Gashwiler tried to look dignifiedly unconcerned, 
but something in his visitor's manner made him uneasy. 

" I say it's bad, if you have. Listen. Before I left here 
I found at a boarding-house where he had boarded, and 
still owed a bill, a trunk which the landlord retained. 
Opening it I found some letters and papers of yours, with 
certain memoranda of his, which I thought ought to be in 
your possession. As an alleged friend of his I redeemed 



The Story of a Mine. 99 

the trunk by paying the amount of his bill, and secured the 
more valuable papers." 

Gashwiler's face, which had grown apoplectically suffused 
as Wiles went on, at last gasped — " But you got the trunk 
and have the papers ? " 

" Unfortunately no j and that's why it's bad." 
"But good God ! what have you done with them ?" 
" I've lost them somewhere on the Overla Koad." 
Mr. Gashwiler sat for a few moments speechless, vacillat- 
ing between a purple rage and a pallid fear. Then he said 
hoarsely — 

"They are all blank forgeries — every one of them." 
" Oh no ! " said Wiles, smiling blankly on his dexter side, 
and enjoying the whole scene malevolently with his sinister 
aye. " Your papers are all genuine, and I won't say are 
.lot all right, but unfortunately I had in the same bag some 
memoranda of my own for the use of my client, that, you 
understand, might be put to some bad use if found by a 
clever man." 

The two rascals looked at each other. There is, on the 
whole, really very little " honour among thieves " — at least 
great ones — and the inferior rascal succumbed at the reflec- 
tion of what he might do if he were in the other rascal's 
place. " See here. Wiles," he said, relaxing his dignity 
with the perspiration that oozed from every pore, and made 
the collar of his shirt a mere limp rag. "See here, We^^ 
— this first use of the plural was equivalent to a confession 
— ^^we must get them papers." 

"Of course," said Wiles coolly, "if we can, and if 
Thatcher don't get wind of them." 
" He cannot." 

" He was on the coach when I lost them, coming 
East." 

Mr. Gashwiler paled again. In the emergency he had 



lOO The Story of a Mine. 

recourse to the sideboard and a bottle, forgetting Wiles. 
Ten minutes before, Wiles would have remained seated ; 
but it is recorded that he rose, took the bottle from the 
gifted Gashwiler's fingers, helped himself ^^j-/ and then sat 
down. 

" Yes, but, my boy," said Gashwiler, now rapidly changing 
situations with the cooler Wiles, "yes, but, old fellow/' he 
added, poking Wiles with a fat fore-finger, " don't you see 
the whole thing will be up before he gets here." 

*' Yes," said Wiles gloomily, ''but those lazy, easy, honest 
men have a way of popping up just at the nick of time. 
They never need hurry; all things wait for them. Why, 
don't you remember that on the very day Mrs. Hopkinson 
and me and you got the President to sign that patent, that 
very day one of them d — n fellows turns up from San 
Francisco or Australia, having taken his own time to get 
here ; gets here about half an hour after the President had 
signed the patent and sent it over to the office, finds the 
right man to introduce him to the President, has a talk 
with him, makes him sign an order countermanding its 
issuance, and undoes all that has been done in six years in 
one hour." 

"Yes, but Congress is a tribunal that does not revoke its 
decrees," said Gashwiler with a return of his old manner ; 
" at least," he added, observing an incredulous shrug in the 
shoulders of his companion, "at least during the session^^ 

" We shall see," said Wiles, quietly taking his hat. 

" We shall see, sir," said the member from Remus with 
dignity. 



The Story of a Mine. ^ loi 



CHAPTER XIV. 

WHO INTRIGUED FOR IT. 

There was at this time in the Senate of the United States 
an eminent and respected gentleman, scholarly, orderly, 
honourable and radical— the fit representative of a scholarly, 
orderly, honourable and radical commonwealth. For many 
years he had held his trust with conscious rectitude, and a 
slight depreciation of other forms of merit, and for as many 
years had been as regularly returned to his seat by his con- 
stituency with equally conscious rectitude in themselves, 
and an equal scepticism regarding others. Removed by 
his nature beyond the reach of certain temptations, and by 
circumstances beyond even the knowledge of others, his 
social and political integrity was spotless. An orator and 
practical debater, his refined tastes kept him from person- 
ality, and the public recognition of the complete unselfish- 
ness of his motives and the magnitude of his dogmas, 
protected him from scurrility. His principles had never 
been appealed to by a bribe ; he had rarely been approached 
by an emotion. 

A man of poUshed taste in art and literature, and pos- 
sessing the means to gratify it, his luxurious home was 
filled with treasures he had himself collected, and further 
enhanced by the stamp of his own appreciation. His 
library had not only the elegance of adornment that his 
wealth could bring and his taste approve, but a certain 
refined negligence of habitual use and the easy disorder of 
the artist's workshop. All this was quickly noted by a 
young girl who stood on its threshold at the close of a dull 
January day. 

The card that had been brought to the Senator bore the 
name of "Carmen de Haro," and modestly, in the right- 



I02 The Story of a Mine, 

hand corner, in almost microscopic script, the further de- 
scription of herself as "Artist." Perhaps the picturesque- 
ness of the name and its historic suggestion caught the 
scholar's taste, for, when to his request, through his servant, 
that she would be kind enough to state her business, she 
replied as frankly that her business was personal to himself, 
he directed that she should be admitted. Then, entrench- 
ing himself behind his library table, overlooking a bastion 
of books, and a glacis of pamphlets and papers, and 
throwing into his forehead and eyes an expression of utter 
disqualification for anything but the business before him, he 
calmly awaited the intruder. 

She came, and for an instant stood, hesitatingly, framing 
herself as a picture in the door. Mrs. Hopkinson was 
right — she had "no style," unless an original and half 
foreign quaintness could be called so. There was a 
desperate attempt visible to combine an American shawl 
with the habits of a mantilla, and it was always slipping 
from one shoulder, that was so supple and vivacious as to 
betray the deficiencies of an education in stays. There 
was a cluster of black curls around her low forehead, fitting 
her so closely as to seem to be a part of the seal-skin cap 
she wore. Once, from the force of habit, she attempted 
to put her shawl over her head and talk through the folds 
gathered under her chin, but an astonished look from the 
Senator checked her. Nevertheless, he felt relieved, and, 
rising, motioned her to a chair with a heartiness he would 
have scarcely shown to a Parisian toilleta. And when, with 
two or three quick, long steps, she reached his side, and 
showed a frank, innocent, but strong and determined little 
face, feminine only in its flash of eye and beauty of lip and 
chin curves, he put down the pamphlet he had taken up some- 
what ostentatiously, and gently begged to know her business. 

I think I have once before spoken of her voice — an 



The Story of a Mine. 103 

organ more often cultivated by my fair countrywomen for 
singing than for speaking, which, considering that much 
of our practical relations with the sex are carried on with- 
out the aid of an opera score, seems a mistaken notion of 
theirs — and of its sweetness, gentle inflexion and musical 
emphasis. She had the advantage of having been trained 
in a musical language, and came of a race with whom 
catarrhs and sore throats were rare. So that in a few brief 
phrases she sang the Senator into acquiescence as she 
imparted the plain libretto of her business — namely, a 
"desire to see some of his rare engravings." 

Now the engravings in question were certain etchings 
of the early great apprentices of the art, and were, I am 
happy to believe, extremely rare. From my unprofessional 
view they were exceedingly bad — showing the mere genesis 
of something since perfected, but dear, of course, to the 
true collector's soul. I don't believe that Carmen really 
admired them either. But the minx knew that the Senator 
prided himself on having the only "pot-hooks" of the 
great '•' A " or the first artistic efiforts of " B " — I leave the 
real names to be filled in by the connoisseur — and the 
Senator became interested. For the last year two or three 
of these abominations had been hanging in his study, 
utterly ignored by the casual visitor. But here was appre- 
ciation ! •'• She was," she added, " only a poor young 
artist, unable to purchase such treasures, but equally 
unable to resist the opportunity afi"orded her, even at the 
risk of seeming bold, or of obtruding upon a great man's 
privacy," &c., &c. 

This flattery, which, if ofl"ered in the usual legal tender 
of the country, would have been looked upon as counter- 
feit, delivered here in a foreign accent, with a slightly 
tropical warmth, was accepted by the Senator as genuine. 
These children of the Sun are so impulsive ! We, of 



I04 The Story of a Mine. 

course, feel a little pity for the person who thus transcends 
our standard of good taste and violates our conventional 
canons — but they are always sincere. The cold New 
Englander saw nothing wrong in one or two direct and 
extravagant compliments, that would have insured his 
visitor's early dismissal if tendered in the clipped metalUc 
phrases of the commonwealth he represented. 

So that in a few moments the black, curly head of the 
little artist and the white, flowing locks of the Senator were 
close together bending over the rack that contained the 
engravings. It was then that Carmen, listening to a 
graphic description of the early rise of Art in the Nether- 
lands, forgot herself and put her shawl around her head, 
holding its folds in her little brown hand. In this situation 
they were, at different times during the next two hours, 
interrupted by five Congressmen, three Senators, a Cabinet 
officer, and a Judge of the Supreme Bench — each of whom 
were quickly but courteously dismissed. Popular sentiment, 
however, broke out in the hall. 

"Well, I'm blanked, but this gets me." (The speaker 
was a Territorial delegate.) 

"At his time o' life, too, lookin' over pictures with a gal 
young enough to be his grandchild. (This from a venerable 
official, since suspected of various erotic irregularities.) 

"She don't handsome any." (The honourable member 
from Dakotah.) 

"This accounts for his protracted silence during the 
session." (A serious colleague from the Senator's own 
State.) 

"Oh, blank it all!" {Omnes.) 

Four went home to tell their wives. There are few things- 
more touching in the matrimonial compact than the superb 
frankness with which each confide to each the various 
irregularities of their friends. It is upon these sacred con- 



The Story of a Mine. 105 

fidences that the firm foundations of marriage rest un- 
shaken. 

Of course the objects of this comment, at least one of 
them, were quite oblivious. " I trust," said Carmen timidly, 
when they had for the fourth time regarded in rapt admira- 
tion an abominable something by some Dutch wood- 
chopper, " I trust I am not keeping you from your great 
friends " — her pretty eyelids were cast down in tremulous 
distress — "I should never forgive myself. Perhaps it is 
important business of the State ? " 

" Oh dear, no ! They will come again — it's their 
business." 

The Senator meant it kindly. It was as near the perilous 
edge of a compliment as your average cultivated Boston 
man ever ventures, and Carmen picked it up, femininely, 
by its sentimental end. "And I suppose / shall not 
trouble you again ? " 

" I shall always be proud to place the portfolio at your 
disposal. Command me at any time," said the Senator, 
with dignity. 

"You are kind. You are good," said Carmen, "and I — 
I am but — look you — only a poor girl from California, that 
you know not." 

" Pardon me. I know your country well." And indeed 
he could have told her the exact number of bushels of 
wheat to the acre in her own county of Monterey, its voting 
population, its political bias. Yet of the more important 
product before him, after the manner of book-read men, he 
knew nothing. 

Carmen was astonished, but respectful. It transpired 
presently that she was not aware of the rapid growth of the 
silk -worm in her own district, knew nothing of the Chinese 
question, and very little of the American mining laws. 
Upon these questions the senator enlightened her fully. 



io6 The Story of a Mine. 

"Your name is historic, by the way," he said pleasantly ; 
" there was a Knight of Alcantara, a ' de Haro,' one of the 
emigrants with Las Casas." 

Carmen nodded her head quickly, " Yes \ my great-great- 
great-g-r-e-a-t grandfather ! " 

The Senator stared. 

" Oh yes. I am the niece of Victor Castro, who married 
my father's sister." 

"The Victor Castro of the Blue Mass Mine?" asked 
the Senator abruptly. 

"Yes," quietly. 

Had the Senator been of the Gashwiler type he would 
have expressed himself, after the average masculine fashion, 
by a long-drawn whistle. But his only perceptible appre- 
ciation of a sudden astonishment and suspicion in his mind 
was a lowering of the social thermometer of the room so 
decided that poor Carmen looked up innocently, chilled, 
and drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders. 

" I have something more to ask," said Carmen, hanging 
her head — '' it is a great, oh, a very great favour." 

The Senator had retreated behind his bastion of books 
again, and was visibly preparing for an assault. He saw it 
all now. He had been, in some vague way, deluded. He 
had given confidential audience to the niece of one of the 
Great Claimants before Congress. The inevitable axe had 
come to the grindstone. What might not this woman dare 
ask of him ? He was the more implacable that he felt he 
had already been prepossessed — and honestly prepossessed 
— in her favour. He was angry with her for having pleased 
him. Under the icy polish of his manner there were certain 
Puritan callosities caused by early straight-lacing. He was 
not yet quite free from his ancestor's cheerful ethics, that 
Nature, as represented by an Impulse, was as much to be 
restrained as Order represented by a Quaker. 



The Story of a Mine. 107 

Without apparently noticing his manner, Carmen went 
on, with a certain potential freedom of style, gesture and 
manner scarcely to be indicated in her mere words. " You 
know, then, I am of Spanish blood, and that, in what was 
my adopted country, our motto was, ^God and Liberty.' 
It was of you, sir — the great Emancipator — the apostle of 
that Liberty — the friend of the down-trodden and oppressed 
— that I, as a child, first knew. In the histories of this 
great country I have read of you, I have learned your ora- 
tions. I have longed to hear you in your own pulpit 
deliver the creed of my ancestors. To hear you, of your- 
self, speak, ah ! Madre de Dios I what shall I say — speak 
the oration eloquent to make the — what you call — the de- 
bate, that is what I have for so long hoped. Eh ! Pardon 
— you are thinking me foolish — wild, eh — a small child 
—eh ? " 

Becoming more and more dialectical as she went on, she 
said suddenly, " I have you of myself oftended. You are 
mad of me as a bold, bad child ? Is it so ? " 

The Senator, as visibly becoming limp and weak again 
behind his entrenchments, managed to say, " Oh no !" then, 
"really ! " and finally, " Tha-a-nks ! " 

" I am here but for a day. I return to California in a 
day, as it were to-morrow. I shall never — never hear you 
speak in your place in the Capitol of this great country ? " 

The Senator said, hastily, that he feared, he in fact was 
convinced, that his duty during this session was required 
more at his desk, in the committee work, than in speaking, 
&c., &c. 

"Ah," said Carmen, sadly, "it is true, then, all this that 
I have heard. It is true that what they have told me — that 
you have given up the great party — that your voice is not 
longer heard in the old — what you call this — eh — the old 
issues ? " 



io8 The Story of a Mine. 

"If any one has told you that, Miss De Haro," responded 
the Senator, sharply, " he has spoken foolishly. You have 
been misinformed. May I ask who " 

" Ah ! " said Carmen, " I know not ! It is in the air ! 
I am a stranger. Perhaps I am de-ceived. But it is of all. 
I say to them, When shall I hear him speak ? I go day 
after day to the Capitol, I watch him — the great Emanci- 
pator — but it is of business, eh ? — it is the claim of that 
one, it is the Tax, eh } it is the Impost, it is the Post-office, 
but it is the great speech of Human Rights — never, never. 
I say, * How arrives all this ? ' And some say and shake 
their heads, ' never again he speaks.' He is what you call 
'played ' — yes, it is so, eh ? ' played out.' I know it not — 
it is a word from Bos-ton perhaps ? They say he has — eh, 
I speak not the English well — the party he has * shaken,' 
' shook ' — yes — he has the Party ' shaken,' eh ? It is right 
— it is the language of Boston, eh ? " 

"Permit me to say. Miss De Haro," returned the Senator, 
rising with some asperity, "that you seem to have been 
unfortunate in your selection of acquaintances, and still more 
so in your ideas of the deriva-tions of the Enghsh tongue. 
The — er — the — er — expressions you have quoted are not 
common to Boston, but emanate, I believe, from the 
West." 

Carmen De Haro contritely buried everything but her 
black eyes in her shawl. 

" No one," he continued, more gently, sitting down 
again, " has the right to forecast from my past what I 
intend to do in the future, or designate the means I may 
choose to serve the principles I hold or the Party I repre- 
sent. Those are my functions. At the same time, should 
occasion — or opportunity — for we are within a day or two 
of the close of the Session " 

"Yes," interrupted Carmen sadly, "I see — it will be 



The Story of a Mine, 109 

some .business, some claim, something for somebody — ah ! 
Madre de Dios — you will not speak, and I " 

"When do you think of returning?" asked the Senator, 
with grave politeness, '* when are we to lose you ? " 

"I shall stay to the last — to the end of the Session," said 
Carmen. " And now I shall go." She got up and pulled 
her shawl viciously over her shoulders with a pretty pettish- 
ness, perhaps the most feminine thing she had done that 
evening. Possibly, the most genuine. 

The Senator smiled affably : " You do not deserve to 
be disappointed in either case ; but it is later than you 
imagine ; let me help you on the shorter distance with my 
carriage ; it is at the door." 

He accompanied her gravely to the carriage. As it 
rolled away she buried her little figure in its ample cushions 
and chuckled to herself, albeit a little hysterically. When 
she had reached her destination she found herself crying, 
and hastily, and somewhat angrily, dried her eyes as she 
drew up at the door of her lodgings. 

'* How have you prospered ? " asked Mr. Harlowe, of 
counsel for Royal Thatcher, as he gallantly assisted her 
from the carriage. "I have been waiting here for two 
hours j your interview must have been prolonged — that was 
a good sign." 

"Don't ask me now," said Carmen, a little savagely, 
"I'm worn out and tired." 

Mr. Harlowe bowed. "I trust you will be better 
to-morrow, for we expect our friend, Mr. Thatcher." 

Carmen's brown cheek flushed slightly. " He should 
have been here before. Where is he ? What was he 
doing ? " 

" He was snowed up on the plains. He is coming as 
fast as steam can carry him, but he may be too late." 



no The Story of a Mine. 

Carmen did not reply. 

The lawyer lingered. " How did you find the great 
New England Senator ? " he asked, with a slight profes- 
sional levity. 

Carmen was tired, Carmen was worried, Carmen was a 
little self-reproachful, and she kindled easily. Consequently 
she said icily — 

*' I found him a gentleman I " 



CHAPTER XV. 

HOW IT BECAME UNFINISHED BUSINESS. 

The closing of the LXIX Congress was not unlike the 
closing of the several preceding Congresses. There was 
the same unbusiness like, impractical haste ; the same 
hurried, unjust and utterly inadequate adjustment of un- 
finished, ill-digested business, that would not have been 
tolerated for a moment by the sovereign people in any 
private interest they controlled. There were frauds rushed 
through ; there were long-suffering, righteous demands 
shelved ; there were honest, unpaid debts dishonoured by 
scant appropriations ; there were closing scenes which only 
the saving sense of American humour kept from being 
utterly vile. The actors, the legislators themselves, knew 
it and laughed at it ; the commentators, the Press, knew it 
and laughed at it ; the audience, the great American 
people, knew it and laughed at it. And nobody for an 
instant conceived that it ever, under any circumstances, 
might be otherwise. 

The claim of Roscommon was among the Unfinished 
Business. The claimant himself, haggard, pathetic, impor- 
tunate and obstinate, was among the Unfinished Business. 



The Story of a Mine. 1 1 1 

Various Congressmen, more or less interested in the success 
of the claim, were among the Unfinished Business. The 
member from Fresno, who had changed his derringer for a 
speech against the claimant, was among the Unfinished 
Business. The gifted Gashwiler, uneasy in his soul over 
certain other unfinished business in the shape of his missing 
letters, but dropping oil and honey as he mingled with his 
brothers, was King of Misrule and Lord of the Unfinished 
Business. Pretty Mrs Hopkinson, prudently escorted by 
her husband, but imprudently ogled by admiring Congress- 
men, lent the charm of her presence to the finishing of Un- 
finished Business. One or two editors, who had dreams 
of a finished financial business, arising out of unfinished 
business, were there also, like ancient bards, to record with 
paean or threnody the completion of Unfinished Business. 
Various unclean birds, scenting carrion in Unfinished Busi- 
ness, hovered in the halls or roosted in the Lobby. 

The lower house, under the tutelage of the gifted Gash- 
wiler, drank deeply of Roscommon and his intoxicating 
claim, and passed the half empty bottle to the Senate as 
Unfinished Business. But alas ! in the very rush and storm 
and tempest of the finishing business, an unlooked-for inter- 
ruption arose in the person of a great Senator whose power 
none could oppose, whose right to free and extended utter- 
ance at all times none could gainsay. A claim for poultry, 
violently seized by the army of Sherman during his march 
through Georgia, from the hen-coop of an alleged loyal 
Irishman, opened a constitutional question, and with it the 
lips of the great Senator. 

For seven hours he spoke eloquently, earnestly, con- 
vincingly. For seven hours the old issues of party and 
policy were severally taken up and dismissed in the old 
forcible rhetoric that had early made him famous. Inter- 
ruption from other Senators, now forgetful of Unfinished 



112 The Story of a Mine. 

Business and wild with reanimated party zeal; interruptions 
from certain Senators mindful of Unfinished Business, and 
unable to pass the Roscommon bottle, only spurred him to 
fresh exertion. The tocsin sounded in the Senate was 
heard in the lower house. Highly excited members congre- 
gated at the doors of the Senate, and left Unfinished Busi- 
ness to take care of itself. 

Left to itself for seven hours, Unfinished Business gnashed 
its false teeth and tore its wig in impotent fury in corridor 
and hall. For seven hours the gifted Gashwiler had con- 
tinued the manufacture of oil and honey, whose sweetness, 
however, was slowly palling upon the Congressional lip ; 
for seven hours Roscommon and friends beat with impatient 
feet the lobby and shook fists, more or less discoloured, at 
the distinguished senator. For seven hours the one or two 
editors were obliged to sit and calmly compliment the great 
speech which that night flashed over the wires of a continent 
vvith the old electric thrill. And, worse than all, they were 
obhged to record with it the closing of the LXIX Congress, 
v;ith more than the usual amount of Unfinished Business. 

A little group of friends surrounded the great Senator 
with hymns of praise and congratulations. Old adversaries 
saluted him courteously as they passed by, with the respect 
of strong men. A little woman with a shawl drawn over 
her shoulders, and held with one small brown hand, 
approached him timidly — 

"I speak not the English well," she said gently, "but I 
have read much. I have read in the plays of your 
Shakspeare. I would like to say to you the words of 
Rosalind to Orlando, when he did fight : ' Sir, you have 
wrestled well, and have overthrown more than your 
enemies.'" And with these words she was gone. 

Yet not so quickly but that pretty Mrs. Hopkinson, 
coming — as Victrix always comes to Victor — to thank thfi 



The Story of a Mine. 113 

great Senator, albeit the faces of her escorts were shrouded 
in gloom, saw the shawled figure disappear. 

*' There," she said, pinching Wiles mischievously, " there ! 
that's the wonia-n you were afraid of. Look at her. Look 
at that dress. Ah, Heavens ; look at that shawl. Didn't 
I tell you she had no style } " 

" Who is she ? " said Wiles sullenly. 

" Carmen de Haro, of course," said the lady vivaciously. 
" What are you hurrying away so for ? You're absolutely 
pulling me along." 

Mr. Wiles had just caught sight of the travel-worn face of 
Royal Thatcher among the crowd that thronged the stair- 
case. Thatcher appeared pale and distrait ; Mr Harlowe, 
his counsel, at his side, rallied him. 

" No one would think you had just got a new lease of 
your property, and escaped a great swindle. What's the 
matter with you ? Miss De Haro passed us just now. It 
was she who spoke to the Senator. Why did you not 
recognise her ? " 

" I was thinking," said Thatcher gloomily. 

" Well, you take things coolly ! And certainly you are 
not very demonstrative towards the woman who saved you 
to-day. For as sure as you live it was she who drew that 
speech out of the Senator." 

Thatcher did not reply, but moved away. He had 
noticed Carmen De Haro, and was about to greet her with 
mingled pleasure and embarrassment. But he had heard 
her comphment to the Senator, and this strong, preoccupied, 
automatic man, who only ten days before had no thought 
beyond his property, was now thinking more of that compli- 
ment to another than of his success — and was beginning to 
hate the Senator who had saved him, the lawyer who stood 
beside him, and even the little figure that had tripped down 
the steps unconscious of him. 

VOL. v. H 



114 '^^^ Story of a Mine, 



CHAPTER XVI. 

AND WHO FORGOT IT. 

It was somewhat inconsistent with Royal Thatcher's embar- 
rassment and sensitiveness that he should, on leaving the 
Capitol, order a carriage and drive directly to the lodgings 
of Miss De Haro. That on finding she was not at home 
he should .become again sulky and suspicious, and even be 
ashamed of the honest impulse that led him there, was, I 
suppose, man-like and natural. He felt that he had done 
all that courtesy required j he had promptly answered her 
despatch with his presence. If she chose to be absent at 
such a moment, he had at least done his duty. In short, 
there was scarcely any absurdity of the imagination which 
this once practical man did not permit himself to indulge 
in, yet always with a certain consciousness that he was al- 
lowing his feelings to run away with him — a fact that did 
not tend to make him better humoured, and rather incHned 
him to place the responsibility of the elopement on some- 
body else. If Miss De Haro had been home, &c., &c., 
and not going into ecstacies over speeches, &c., &c., and 
had attended to her business — /. ^., being exactly what he 
had supposed her to be — all this would not have happened. 
I am aware that this will not heighten the reader's respect 
for my hero. But I fancy that the imperceptible progress 
of a sincere passion in the matured strong man is apt to be 
marked with even more than the usual haste and absurdity 
of callous youth. The fever that runs riot in the veins of 
the robust is apt to pass your ailing weakling by. Possibly 
there may be some immunity in inoculation. It is Lothario 
who is always self-possessed and does and says the right 
thing, while poor honest Csekbs becomes ridiculous with 
genuine emotion. 



The Story of a Mine. 115 

He rejoined his lawyer in no very gracious mood. The 
chambers occupied by Mr. Harlowe were in the basement 
of a private dwelling once occupied and made historic by 
an Honourable Somebody, who, however, was remembered 
only by the landlord and the last tenant. There were various 
shelves in the walls divided into compartments, sarcastically 
known as "pigeon-holes," in which the dove of peace had 
never rested, but which still perpetuated, in their legends, 
the feuds and animosities of suitors now but common dust 
together. There was a portrait, apparently of a cherub, 
which on nearer inspection turned out to be a famous Eng- 
lish Lord Chancellor in his flowing wig. There were books 
with dreary, unenlivening titles — egotistic always, as record- 
ing Smith's opinions on this, and Jones' commentaries on 
that. There was a handbill tacked on the wall, which at 
first offered hilarious suggestions of a circus or a steamboat 
excursion, but which turned out only to be a sheriff's sale. 
There were several oddly-shaped packages in newspaper 
wrappings, mysterious and awful in dark corners, that might 
have contained forgotten law papers or the previous week's 
washing of the eminent counsel. There were one or two 
newspapers, which at first offered entertaining prospects to 
the waiting client, but always proved to be a law record or 
a Supreme Court decision. There was the bust of a late 
distinguished jurist, which apparently had never been dusted 
since he himself became dust, and had already grown a per- 
ceptibly dusty moustache on his severely-judicial upper lip. 
It was a cheerless place in the sunshine of day \ at night, 
when it ought, by every suggestion of its dusty past, to 
have been left to the vengeful ghosts, the greater part of 
whose hopes and passions were recorded and gathered 
there — when in the dark the dead hands of forgotten men 
were stretched from their dusty graves to fumble once more 
for their old title deeds — at night, when it was lit up by 



1 1 6 The Story of a Mine. 

flaring gaslight, the hollow mockery of this dissipation was 
so apparent that people in the streets, looking through the 
illuminated windows, felt as if the privacy of a family vault 
had been intruded upon by body-snatchers. 

Royal Thatcher glanced around the room, took in all its 
dreary suggestions in a half-weary, half-indifferent sort of 
way, and dropped into the lawyer's own revolving chair as 
that gentleman entered from the adjacent room. 

" Well, you got back soon, I see," said Harlowe briskly. 

" Yes," said his chent without looking up, and with this 
notable distinction between himself and all other previous 
clients, that he seemed absolutely less interested than the 
lawyer. " Yes, Fm here, and upon my soul I don't exactly 
know why." 

"You told me of certain papers you had discovered," 
said the lawyer suggestively. 

" Oh yes," returned Thatcher with a slight yawn. " I've 
got here some papers somewhere " — he began to feel in his 
coat-pocket languidly — " but, by the way, this is a rather 
dreary and God-forsaken sort of place ! Let's go up to 
Welcker's, and you can look at them over a bottle of 
champagne." 

" After I've looked at them, I've something to show you 
myself," said Harlowe, "and as for the champagne, we'll 
have that in the other room, by and by. At present I want 
to have my head clear, and yours too — if you'll oblige me 
by becoming sufficiently interested in your own affairs to 
talk to me about them." 

Thatcher was gazing abstractedly at the fire. He started. 
" I dare say," he began, " I'm not very interesting ; yet it's 
possible that my affairs have taken up a little too much of 
my time. However — " he stopped, took from his pocket an 
envelope and threw it on the desk — " there are some papers. 
I don't know what value they may be ; that is for you to 



The Story of a Mine. 1 1 7 

determine. I don't know that IVe any legal right to their 
possession — that's for you to say, too. They came to me in 
a queer way. On the overland journey here I lost my bag, 
containing my few traps and some letters and papers ' of no 
value,' as the advertisements always say, ' to any but the 
owner.' Well, the bag was lost, but the stage-driver declares 
that it was stolen by a fellow passenger, a — man by the name 

of Giles, or Stiles, or Biles " 

" Wiles," said Harlowe earnestly. 

" Yes," continued Thatcher, suppressing a yawn ; " yes, 
I guess you're right — Wiles. Well, the stage-driver, firmly 
believing this, goes to work and quietly and unostentatiously 
steals — I say, have you got a cigar ? " 
'Til get you one." 

Harlowe disappeared in the adjoining room. Thatcher 
dragged Harlowe's heavy revolving desk chair, which never 
before had been removed from his sacred position, to the 
fire, and began to poke the coals abstractedly. 

Harlowe reappeared with cigars and matches. Thatcher 
lit one mechanically, and said, between the puffs — 
" Do you — ever — talk — to yourself? " 
"No!— why?" 

"I thought I heard your voice just now in the other 
room. Anyhow, this is an awful spooky place. If I stayed 
here alone half an hour I'd fancy that the Lord Chancellor 
up there would step down in his robes, out of his frame, to 
keep me company." 

" Nonsense ! When I'm busy I often sit here and write 
until after midnight. It's so quiet ! " 

" D mnably so ! " 

" Well, to go back to the papers. Somebody stole your 

bag, or you lost it. You stole " 

"The driver stole," suggested Thatcher, so languidly 
that it could hardly be called an interruption. 



1 1 8 The Story of a Mine, 

" Well, we'll say the driver stole, and passed over to you 
as his accomplice, confederate, or receiver, certain papers 
belonging " 

" See here, Harlowe, I don't feel like joking in a ghostly 
law office after midnight. Here are your facts. Yuba Bill, 
the driver, stole a bag from this passenger, Wiles, or Smiles, 
and handed it to me to insure the return of my own. I 
found in it some papers concerning my case. There they 
are. Do with them what you like." 

Thatcher turned his eyes again abstractedly to the fire. 

Harlowe took out the first paper — 

" A-w, this seems to be a telegram. Yes, eh ? * Come 
to Washington at once. Carmen de Haro. ' " 

Thatcher started, blushed like a girl, and hurriedly 
reached for the paper. 

*' Nonsense. That's a mistake. A despatch I mislaid 
in the envelope." 

" I see," said the lawyer drily. 

" I thought I had torn it up," continued Thatcher, after 
an awkward pause. I regret to say that here that usually 
truthful man elaborated a fiction. He had consulted it a 
dozen times a day on the journey, and it was quite worn in 
its enfoldings. Harlowe's quick eye had noticed this, but 
he speedily became interested and absorbed in the other 
papers. Thatcher lapsed into contemplation of the fire. 

" Well," said Harlowe, finally turning to his client, 
" here's enough to unseat Gashwiler, or close his mouth. 
As to the rest, it's good reading — but I needn't tell you — 
no legal evidence. But it's proof enough to stop them 
from ever trying it again — when the existence of this record 
is made known. Bribery is a hard thing to fix on a man; 
the only witness is naturally /^;'//V^j- criiJiinis — but it would 
not be easy for them to explain away this rascal's record. 
One or two things I don't understand : What's this 



The Story of a Mine. \ 19 

opposite the Hon. X.'s name, ' Took the medicine nicely, 
and feels better? ' and here — just in the margin, after Y.'s, 
* Must be laboured with ? ' " 

" I suppose our California slang borrows largely from the 
medical and spiritual professions," returned Thatcher. " But 
isn't it odd that a man should keep a conscientious record 
of his own villany ? " 

Harlowe, a little abashed at his want of knowledge of 
American metaphor, now felt himself at home. " Well, no. 
It's not unusual. In one of those books yonder there is 
the record of a case where a man, who had committed a 
series of nameless atrocities, extending over a period of 
years, absolutely kept a memorandum of them in his pocket 
diary. It was produced in Court. Why, my dear fellow, 
one half our business arises from the fact that men and 
women are in the habit of keeping letters and documents 
that they might — I don't say, you know, that they ought^ 
that's a question of sentiment or ethics — but that they 
viight destroy." 

Thatcher, half-mechanically, took the telegram of poor 
Carmen and threw it in the fire. Harlowe noticed the act 
and smiled. 

" I'll venture to say, however, that there's nothing in the 
bag th3.t you lost that need give you a moment's uneasiness. 
It's only your rascal or fool who carries with him that which 
makes him his own detective. 

" I had a friend," continued Harlowe, " a clever fellow 
enough, but who was so foolish as to seriously complicate 
himself with a woman. He was himself the soul of honour, 
and at the beginning of their correspondence he proposed 
that they should each return the other's letters with their 
answer. They did so for years, but it cost him ten thousand 
dollars and no end of trouble, after all." 

" Why ? " asked Thatcher simply. 



I20 The Story of a Mine. 

" Because he was such an egotistical ass as to keep the 
letter proposing it, which she had duly returned, among his 
papers as a sentimental record. Of course somebody 
eventually found it." 

"Good-night," said Thatcher, rising abruptly. "If I 
stayed here much longer I should begin to disbelieve my 
own mother." 

"I have known of such hereditary traits," returned Har- 
lowe, with a laugh. " But come, you must not go without 
the champagne." He led the way to the adjacent room, 
which proved to be only the antechamber of another, on 
the threshold of which Thatcher stopped with genuine sur- 
prise. It was an elegantly furnished library. 

" Sybarite ! Why was I never here before?" 

"Because you came as a cUent; to-night you are my 
guest. All who enter here leave their business, with their 
hats, in the hall. Look ; there isn't a law-book on those 
shelves j that table never was defaced by a title-deed or 
parchment. You look puzzled ? Well, it was a whim of 
mine to put my residence and my workshop under the same 
roof, yet so distinct that they would never interfere with 
each other. You know the house above is let out to 
lodgers. I occupy the first floor with my mother and sister, 
and this is my parlour. I do my work in that severe room 
that fronts the street ; here is where I play. A man must 
have something else in life than mere business. I find it 
less harmful and expensive to have my pleasure here." 

Thatcher had sunk moodily in the embracing arms of an 
easy chair. He was thinking deeply ; he was fond of books 
too, and like all men who have fared hard and led wander- 
ing lives, he knew the value of cultivated repose. Like all 
men who have been obhged to sleep under blankets and in 
the open air, he appreciated the luxuries of linen sheets and 
a frescoed roof. It is, by the way, only your sick city clerk 



The Story of a Mine. 1 2 1 

or your dyspeptic clergyman, who fancy that they have 
found in the bad bread, fried steaks and frowzy flannels of 
mountain picnicing the true art of living. And it is a 
somewhat notable fact that your true mountaineer or your 
gentleman who has been obUged to honestly " rough it," do 
not, as a general thing, write books about its advantages or 
implore their fellow mortals to come and share their solitude 
and their discomforts. 

Thoroughly appreciating the taste and comfort of Har- 
lowe's library, yet half envious of its owner, and half suspi- 
cious that his own earnest life for the past few years might 
have been different, Thatcher suddenly started from his 
seat and walked towards a parlour easel, whereon stood a 
picture. It was Carmen de Haro's first sketch of the furnace 
and the Mine. 

" I see you are taken with that picture," said Harlowe, 
pausing with the champagne bottle in his hand. "You 
show your good taste. It's been much admired. Observe 
how splendidly that firelight plays over the sleeping face 
of that figure, yet brings out by very contrast its almost 
death-like repose. Those rocks are powerfully handled ; 
what a suggestion of mystery in those shadows ? You 
know the painter ? " 

Thatcher murmured " Miss de Haro," with a new and 
rather odd self-consciousness in speaking her name. 

"Yes. And you know the story of the picture, of 
course ? " 

Thatcher thought he didn't — well no, in fact, he did not 
remember. 

"Why, this recumbent figure was an old Spanish lover 
of hers, whom she believed to have been murdered there. 
It's a ghastly fancy, ain't it ? " 

Two things annoyed Thatcher; first, the epithet "lover," 
as applied to Concho by another man ; second, that the 



12 2 The Story of a Mine. 

picture belonged to him ; and what the d — 1 did she mean 
by" 

"Yes," he broke out finally, "but how did you get it?" 

" Oh, I bought it of her. I've been a sort of patron of 
hers ever since I found out how she stood towards us. 
As she was quite alone here in Washington, my mother 
and sister have taken her up, and have been doing the 
social thing." 

" How long since?" asked Thatcher. 

" Oh, not long. The day she telegraphed you she came 
here to know what she could do for us, and when I said 
nothing could be done except to keep Congress off — why, 
she went and d/d it. For she, and she alone, got that 
speech out of the Senator. But," he added, a little mis- 
chievously, "you seem to know very little about her?" 

" No ! — I^that is — I've been very busy lately," returned 
Thatcher, staring at the picture, " does she come here 
often ? " 

"Yes, lately, quite often — she was here this evening with 
mother; was here, I think, when you came." 

Thatcher looked intently at Harlowe. But that gentle- 
man's face betrayed no confusion. Thatcher refilled his 
glass a little awkwardly, tossed off the liquor at a draught, 
and rose to his feet. 

"Come, old fellow, you're not going now, I shan't permit 
it," said Harlowe, laying his hand kindly on his client's 
shoulder. " You're out of sorts ! Stay here with me to- 
night. Our accommodations are not large, but are elastic. 
I can bestow you comfortably until morning. Wait here 
a moment while I give the necessary orders." 

Thatcher was not sorry to be left alone. In the last 
half-hour he had become convinced that his love for 
Carmen de Haro had been in some way most dreadfully 
abused. While he was hard at work in California, she was 



The Story of a Mine, . 123 

being introduced in Washington society by parties with 
eligible brothers who bought her paintings. It is a relief 
to the truly jealous mind to indulge in plurals. Thatcher 
liked to think that she was already beset by hundreds of 
brothers. 

He still kept staring at the picture. By and by it faded 
away in part, and a very vivid recollection of the misty, 
midnight, moonlit walk he had once taken with her came 
back and refilled the canvas with its magic. He saw the 
ruined furnace ; the dark, overhanging masses of rock, the 
trembling intricacies of foliage, and, above all, the flash of 
dark eyes under a mafiiilla at his shoulder. What a fool 
he had been ! Had he not really been as senseless and 
stupid as this very Concho, lying here like a log. And 
she had loved that man. What a fool she must have 
thought him that evening? What a snob she must think 
him now? 

He was startled by a slight rustling in the passage, that 
ceased almost as he turned. Thatcher looked towards the 
door of the outer office, as if half expecting that the Lord 
Chancellor, like the commander in Don Juan, might have 
accepted his thoughtless invitation. He listened again; 
everything was still. He was conscious of feeling ill at 
ease and a trifle nervous. What a long time Harlowe took 
to make his preparations. He would look out in the hall. 
To do this it was necessary to turn up the gas. He did 
so, and in his confusion turned it out ! 

Where were the matches ? He remembered that there 
was a bronze Something on the table that, in the irony of 
modern decorative taste, might hold ashes or matches, or 
anything of an unpicturesque character. He knocked 
something over, evidently the ink, something else — this 
time a champagne glass. Becoming reckless and now 
groping at random in the ruins, he overturned the bronze 



124 . The Story of a Mine. 

Mercury on the centre table, and then sat down hopelessly 
in his chair. And then a pair of velvet fingers slid into 
his with the matches, and this audible, musical state- 
ment — 

"It is a match you are seeking? Here is of them." 

Thatcher flushed, embarrassed, nervous — feeling the 
ridiculousness of saying " Thank you " to a dark Some- 
body — struck the match, beheld by its brief, uncertain 
glimmer, Carmen de Haro beside him, burned his fingers, 
coughed, dropped the match, and was cast again into 
outer darkness. 

" Let me try ! " 

Carmen struck a match, jumped briskly on the chair, lit 
the gas, jumped lightly down again and said — "You do 
like to sit in the dark — eh ? So am I — sometimes, alone." 

"Miss de Haro," said Thatcher, with sudden, honest 
earnestness, advancing with outstretched hands, -"believe 
me, I am sincerely delighted, overjoyed again to meet" 

She had, however, quickly retreated as he approached, 
esconcing herself behind the high back of a large antique 
chair, on the cushion of which she knelt. I regret to add 
also that she slapped his outstretched fingers a little sharply 
with her inevitable black fan as he still advanced. 

"We are not in California. It is Washington. It is- 
after midnight. I am a poor girl, and I have to lose — 
what you call — 'a character.' You shall sit over there," 
she pointed to the sofa, "and I shall sit here," she rested 
her boyish head on the top of the chair, "and we shall 
talk, for I have to speak to you — Don Royal." 

Thatcher took the seat indicated, contritely, humbly, 
submissively. Carmen's little heart was touched. But 
she still went on over the back of the chair. 

" Don Royal," she said, emphasising each word with her 
an at him, " before I saw you — ever knew of you — I was 



The Story of a Mine. 125 

a child. Yes, I was but a child ! I was a bold, bad child 
—and I was what you call a — a — 'forgaire ! ' " 

" A what ? " asked Thatcher, hesitating between a smile 
and a sigh. 

" A forgaire ! " continued Carmen demurely. " I did 
of myself write the names of ozzer peoples," when Carmen 
was excited she lost the control of the English tongue, " I 
did write just to please myself — it was my onkle that did 
make of it money — you understand, eh? Shall you not 
speak ? Must I again hit you ? " 

" Go on," said Thatcher, laughing. 

" I did find out, when I came to you at the Mine, that I 
had forged against you the name of Micheltorena. I to 
the lawyer went, and found that it was so — of a verity — 
so ! so ! all the time. Look at me not now, Don Royal — 
it is a ' forgaire ' you stare at ! " 

" Carmen ! " 

" Hoosh ! Shall I have to hit you again ? I did over- 
look all the papers. I found the application; it was 
written by me. There.'"' 

She tossed over the back of her chair an envelope to 
Thatcher. He opened it. 

"I see," he said gently, "you repossessed yourself of 
it!" 

*' What is that — ' r-r-r-e — possess } ' " 

" Why ! " Thatcher hesitated — " You got possession of 
this paper — this innocent forgery — again." 

" Oh ! You think me a thief as well as a ' forgaire.' Go 
away ! Get up. Get out." 

" My dear girl " 

" Look at the paper ! Will you ? Oh, you Silly ! " 

Thatcher looked at the paper. In paper, handwriting, 
age and stamp it was identical with the formal, clerical 
application of Garcia for the grant. The indorsement of 



126 The Story of a Mine, 

Micheltorena was unquestionably genuine. But the appli- 
cation was made for Royal Thatcher. And his own signa- 
ture was imitated to the life. 

" I had but one letter of yours wiz your name," said 
Carmen apologetically — "and it was the best poor me 
could do." 

" Why, you blessed little goose and angel," said 
Thatcher, with the bold, mixed metaphor of amatory 
genius, " don't you see " 

" Ah, you don't like it — it is not good ? " 

" My darling ! " 

" Hoosh ! There is also an old cat upstairs. And 
now I have, here, a character. Will you. sit down ? Is it 
of a necessity that up and down you should walk and 
awaken the whole house. There ! " she had given him a 
vicious dab with her fan as he passed. He sat down. 

"And you have not seen me nor written to me for a 
year ? " 

"Carmen!" 

" Sit down, you bold, bad boy. Don't you see it is of 
business that you and I talk down here, and it is of 
business that ozzer people upstairs are thinking. Eh ? " 

" D — n business ! See here, Carmen, my darling, tell 
me " — I regret to say he had by this time got hold of the 
back of Carmen's chair — "tell me, my own little girl — 
about — about that Senator. You remember what you said 
to him ? " 

" Oh, the old man ? Oh, that was business. And you 
say of business d — n." 

"Carmen !" 

" Don Royal ! " 

Although Miss Carmen had recourse to her fan fre- 
quently during this interview, the air must have been chilly. 



The Story of a Mine. 1 27 

For, a moment later, on his way downstairs, poor Harlowe, 
a sufiferer from bronchitis, was attacked with a violent fit 
of coughing, which troubled him all the way down. 

"Well," he said, as he entered the room, " I see you 
have found Mr. Thatcher and shown those papers. I trust 
you have, for you've certainly had time enough. I am 
sent by mother to dismiss you all to bed." 

Carmen, still in the arm-chair, covered with her mantilla^ 
did not speak. 

"I suppose you are by this time lawyer enough to 
know," continued Harlowe, " that Miss De Haro's papers, 
though ingenious, are not legally available, unless " 

" I chose to make her a witness. Harlowe ! you're a 
good fellow ! I don't mind saying to you that these are 
papers I prefer that my wife should not use. We'll leave it 
for the present — Unfinished Business." 

They did. But one evening our hero brought Mrs. 
Royal Thatcher a paper containing a touching and beauti- 
ful tribute to the dead Senator. 

" There, Carmen, love, read that. Don't you feel a little 
ashamed of your — your — your lobbying " 

" No," said Carmen promptly. " It was business — and, 
if all lobbying business was as honest — well ? " 



Cftanfeful TBIossom: 

A ROMANCE OF THE JERSEYS. 

(I779-) 
PART I. 

The time was the year of grace 1779; the locality, Morris- 
town, New Jersey. 

It was bitterly cold. A north-easterly wind had been 
stiffening the mud of the morning's thaw into a rigid record 
of that day's wayfaring on the Baskingridge road. The 
hoof prints of cavalry, the deep ruts left by baggage waggons, 
and the deeper channels worn by artillery lay stark and 
cold in the waning light of an April day. There were 
icicles on the fences, a rime of silver on the windward bark 
of maples, and occasional bare spots on the rocky protuber- 
ances of the road, as if nature had worn herself out at the 
knees and elbows through long waiting for the tardy spring. 
A few leaves, disinterred by the thaw, became crisp again, 
and rustled in the wind, making the summer a thing so 
remote that all human hope and conjecture fled before 
them. 

Here and there the wayside fences and walls were broken 
down or dismantled, and beyond them fields of snow, down- 
trodden and discoloured and strewn with fragments of 
leather, camp equipage, harness, and cast-off clothing, 
showed traces of the recent encampment and congregation 
of men. On some there were still standing the ruins of 



Thankful Blossom. 129 

rudely-constructed cabins, or the semblance of fortifications 
equally rude and incomplete. A fox stealing along a half- 
filled ditch, a wolf slinking behind an earthwork, typified 
the human abandonment and desolation. 

One by one the faint sunset tints faded from the sky, 
the far-off crests of the Orange hills grew darker, the nearer 
files of pines on the Whatnong mountain became a mere 
black background, and with the coming on of night, came, 
too, an icy silence that seemed to stiffen and arrest the 
very wind itself; the crisp leaves no longer rustled, the 
waving whips of alder and willow snapped no longer, the 
icicles no longer dropped a cold fruitage from barren branch 
and spray, and the roadside trees relapsed into stony quiet. 
So that the sound of horse's hoofs breaking through the 
thin, dull, lustreless films of ice that patched the furrowed 
road might have been heard by the nearest Continental 
picket a mile away. 

Either a knowledge of this or the difficulties of the road 
evidently irritated the viewless horseman. Long before he 
became visible his voice was heard in half-suppressed 
objurgation of the road, of his beast, of the country folk, 
and the country generally. " Steady, you jade ! " " Jump, 
you devil, jump ! " " Curse the road and the beggarly 
farmers that durst not mend it." And then the moving 
bulk of horse and rider suddenly arose above the hill, 
floundered and splashed, and then as suddenly disappeared, 
and the rattling hoof beats ceased. 

The stranger had turned into a deserted lane, still 
cushioned wdth untrodden snow. A stone wall on one hand 
— in better keeping and condition than the boundary monu- 
ments of the outlying fields — bespoke protection and exclu- 
siveness. Half-way up the lane the rider checked his speed, 
and dismounting, tied his horse to a wayside sapling. This 
done he went cautiously forward toward the end of the lane, 
VOL. v. I 



1 30 Thankful Blossom, 

and a farmhouse from whose gable window a hght twinkled 
through the deepening night. Suddenly he stopped, hesi- 
tated, and uttered an impatient ejaculation. The light had 
disappeared. He turned sharply on his heel, and retraced 
his steps until opposite a farm-shed that stood a i^^N 
paces from the wall. Hard by a large elm cast the gaunt 
shadow of its leafless limbs on the wall and surrounding 
snow. The stranger stepped into this shadow, and at once 
seemed to become a part of its trembling intricacies. 

At the present moment it was certainly a bleak place for 
a tryst. There was snow yet clinging to the trunk of the 
tree, and a film of ice on its bark ; the adjacent wall was 
slippery with frost and fringed with icicles. Yet in all 
there was a ludicrous suggestion of some sentiment past and 
unseasonable — several dislodged stones of the wall were so 
disposed as to form a bench and seats, and under the elm 
tree's film of ice could still be seen carved on its bark the 
effigy of a heart, divers initials, and the legend, " Thine for 
ever." 

The stranger, however, kept his eyes fixed only on the 
farm-shed, and the open field beside it. Five minutes 
passed in fruitless expectancy. Ten minutes ! And then 
the rising moon slowly lifted herself over the black range 
of the Orange hills, and looked at him, blushing a little, as 
if the appointment were her own. 

The face and figure thus illuminated was that of a 
strongly-built, handsome man of thirty, so soldierly in 
bearing that it needed not the buff epaulets and facings to 
show his captain's rank in the Continental army. Yet 
there was something in his facial expression that contra- 
dicted the manliness of his presence — an irritation and 
querulousness, that were inconsistent with his size and 
strength. This fretfulness increased as the moments went 
by without sign or motion in the faintly Ht field beyond, 



Thankful Blossom. 1 3 1 

until, in peevish exasperation, he began to kick the nearer 
stones against the wall. 

" Moo-oo-w ! " 

The soldier started. Not that he was frightened, nor 
that he had failed to recognise in these prolonged syllables 
the deep-chested, half-drowsy low of a cow, but that it was 
so near him — evidently just beside the wall. If an object 
so bulky could have approached him so near without his 
knowledge, might not she 

" Moo-00 ! " 

He drew near the wall cautiously. " So, Cushy ! 
•Mooly ! " " Come up. Bossy ! " he said persuasively. 
" Moo — " but here the low unexpectedly broke down, and 
ended in a very human and rather musical little laugh. 

" Thankful ! " exclaimed the soldier, echoing the laugh 
a trifle uneasily and affectedly as a hooded little head arose 
above the wall. 

"Well," replied the figure supporting a prettily-rounded 
chin on her hands, as she laid her elbows complacently on 
the wall. "Well, what did you expect? Did you want me 
to stand here all night while you skulked moonstruck under 
a tree ? or did you look for me to call you by name ; did 
you expect me to shout out Captain Allan Brewster?" 

"Thankful, hush!" 

" Captain Allan Brewster of the Connecticut Contingent," 
continued the girl with an affected raising of a low pathetic 
voice that was, however, inaudible beyond the tree. 
" Captain Brewster, behold me — your obleeged and humble 
servant, and sweetheart to command." 

Captain Brewster succeeded, after -a slight skirmish at 
the wall, in possessing himself of the girl's hand. At which, 
although still struggling, she relented slightly. 

" It isn't every lad that I'd low for," she said, with an 
affected pout, "and there may be others that would not 



132 Thankful Blossom, 

take it amiss. Though there be fine ladies enough at the 
Assembly balls at Morristown as might thmk it hoydenish.'* 

"Nonsense, love," said the Captain, who had by this 
time mounted the wall and encircled the girl's waist with 
his arm. " Nonsense ! you startled me only. But," he 
added, suddenly taking her round chin in his hand and 
turning her face toward the moon, with an uneasy half 
suspicion, "why did you take that light from the window! 
What has happened ? " 

" We had unexpected guests, sweetheart," said Thankful ; 
"the Count just arrived." 

" That infernal Hessian ! " He stopped and gazed ques- 
tioningly into her face. The moon looked upon her at the 
same time — the face was as sweet, as placid, as truthful as 
her own. Possibly these two inconstants understood each 
other. 

" Nay, Allan, he is not a Hessian ; but an exiled gentle- 
man from abroad. A nobleman " 

" There are no noblemen, now," sniffed the trooper con- 
temptuously. " Congress has so decreed it. All men are 
born free and equal." 

" But they are not, Allan," said Thankful, with a pretty 
trouble in her brows. "Even cows are not born equal. 
Is yon calf that was dropped last night by Brindle the equal 
of my red heifer whose mother came by herself in a ship 
from Surrey ? Do they look equal ? " 

"Titles are but breath," said Captain Brewster doggedly. 
There was an ominous pause. 

" Nay, there is one nobleman left," said Thankful, " and 
he is my own — my nature's nobleman." 

Captain Brewster did not reply. From certain arched 
gestures and wreathed smiles with which this forward young 
woman accompanied her statement, it would seem to be 
implied that the gentleman who stood before her was the 



Thankful Blossom. 133 

nobleman alluded to. At least he so accepted it, and em- 
braced her closely, her arms and part of her mantle clinging 
around his neck. In this attitude they remained quiet for 
some moments, slightly rocking from side to side, hke a 
metronome — a movement, I fancy, peculiarly bucolic, pas- 
toral, and idyllic, and as such, I wot, observed by Theocritus 
and Virgil. 

At these supreme moments weak woman usually keeps 
her wits about her much better than your superior reasoning 
masculine animal, and while the gallant Captain was losing 
himself upon her perfect lips. Miss Thankful distinctly 
heard the farm gate click, and otherwise noticed that the 
moon was getting high and obtrusive. She half-released 
herself from the Captain's arms, thoughtfully and tenderly, 
but firmly. " Tell me all about yourself, Allan dear," she 
said quietly, making room for him on the wall, "all, every- 
thing." 

She turned upon him her beautiful eyes j eyes habitually 
earnest and even grave in expression, yet holding in their 
brave brown depths a sweet, child-like reliance and depend- 
ency ; eyes with a certain tender deprecating droop in the 
brown fringed Hd, and yet eyes that seemed to say to every 
man that looked upon them, " I am truthful, be frank with 
me." Indeed, I am convinced there is not one of my im- 
pressible sex, who, looking in those pleading eyes, would 
not have perjured himself on the spot rather than have dis- 
appointed their fair owner. 

Captain Brewster's mouth resumed its old expression of 
discontent. 

" Everything is growing worse. Thankful, and the cause 
is lost. Congress does nothing, and Washington is not the 
man for the crisis. Instead of marching to Philadelphia 
and forcing that wretched rabble of Hancock and Adams 
at the point of the bayonet, he writes letters." 



1 34 Thankful Blosso^n. 

"A dignified, formal old fool," interrupted Mistress 
Thankful indignantly; "and look at his wife! Didn't 
Mistress Ford and Mistress Baily — ay, and the best blood 
of Morris county — go down to his Excellency's in their finest 
bibs and tuckers ; and didn't they find my lady in a pinafore 
doing chores? Vastly polite treatment, indeed. As if the 
whole world didn't 2no\v that the General was taken by 
surprise when my Lady came riding up from Virginia with 
all those fine cavaliers, just to see what his Excellency was 
doing at these Assembly balls. And fine doings, I dare 
say." 

" This is but idle gossip, Thankful," said Captain Brewster, 
with the faintest appearance of self-consciousness; "the 
Assembly balls are conceived by the General to strengthen 
the confidence of the townsfolk, and mitigate the rigours of 
the winter encampment. I go there myself rarely. I have 
but little taste for junketting and gaviotting with my country 
in such need. No, Thankful ! what we want is a leader ! 
And the men of Connecticut feel it keenly. If I have been 
spoken of in that regard," added, the Captain, with a slight 
inflation of his manly breast, "it is because they know of 
my sacrifices — because as New England yeomen they know 
my devotion to the cause. They know of my suffer- 
ing" 

The bright face that looked into his was suddenly afire 
with womanly sympathy, the pretty brow was knit, the sweet 
eyes overflowed with tenderness. " Forgive me, Allan. 
I forgot — perhaps, love — perhaps, dearest, you are hungry 
now." 

" No, not now," replied Captain Brewster, with gloomy 
stoicism; ''yet," he added, "it is nearly a week since I 
have tasted meat." 

"I — I — brought a few things with me," continued the 
girl, with a certain hesitating timidity. She reached down 



Thankful Blossom. 135 

and produced a basket from the shadow of the wall. 
" These chickens," — she held up a pair of pullets — " the 
Commander-in-Chief himself could not buy. I kept them 
for my Commander ! And this pot of marmalade, which 
I know my Allan loves, is the same I put up last summer. 
I thought (very tenderly) you might like a piece of that 
bacon you liked so once, dear. Ah, sweetheart, shall we 
ever sit down to our little board ? Shall we ever see the 
end of this awful war ? Don't you think, dear (very plead- 
ingly), it would be best to give it up? King George is 
not such a very bad man, is he ? I've thought, sweetheart 
(very confidently), that mayhap, you and he might make 
it all up without the aid of those Washingtons, who do 
nothing but starve one to death. x\nd if the King only 
knew you, Allan — should see you as I do, sweetheart — 
he'd do just as you say." 

During this speech she handed him the several articles 
alluded to, and he received them, storing them away in such 
receptacles of his clothing as were convenient. With this 
notable difference ; that with her the act was graceful and pic- 
turesque ; with him there was a ludicrousness of suggestion 
that his broad shoulders and uniform only heightened. 

" I think not of myself, lass," he said, putting the eggs 
in his pocket, and buttoning the chickens within his martial 
breast. "I think not of myself, and perhaps I often spare 
that counsel which is but little heeded. But I have a duty 
to my men — to Connecticut. (He here tied the marmalade 
up^ in his handkerchief) I confess I have sometimes 
thought I might, under provocation, be driven to extreme 
measures for the good of the cause. I make no pretence 
to leadership, but " 

'' With you at the head of the army," broke in Thankful 
enthusiastically, "peace would be declared within a fort- 
night ! " 



136 Thankful Blossom. 

There is no flattery, however outrageous, that a man 
will not accept from the woman whom he believes loves 
him. He will, perhaps, doubt its influence in the colder 
judgment of mankind, but he will consider that this poor 
creature, at least, understands him, and in some vague way 
represents the eternal but unrecognised verities. And 
when this is voiced by lips that are young, and warm, and 
red, it is somehow quite as convincing as the bloodless, 
remoter utterance of posterity. 

Wherefore the trooper complacently buttoned the com- 
pliment over his chest with the pullets. 

"I think you must go now, Allan," she said, looking at 
him with that pseudo-maternal air which the youngest of 
women sometimes assume to their lovers, as if the doll had 
suddenly changed sex and grown to man's estate. " You 
must go now, dear — for it may so chance that father is 
considering my absence over much. You will come again 
a' Wednesday, sweetheart, and you will not go to the 
assemblies, nor visit Mistress Judith, nor take any girl 
pick-a-back again on your black horse, and you will let me 
know when you are hungry ?" 

She turned her brown eyes lovingly, yet with a certain 
pretty trouble in the brow, and such a searching, pleading 
inquiry in her glance that the Captain kissed her at once. 
Then came the final embrace, performed by the Captain 
in a half-perfunctory quiet manner, with a due regard for 
the friable nature of part of his provisions. Satisfying 
himself of the integrity of the eggs by feeling for them in 
his pocket, he waved a military salute with the other hand 
to Miss Thankful, and was gone. A few minutes later the 
sound of his horse's hoofs rang sharply from the icy hill-side. 

But as he reached the summit, two horsemen wheeled 
suddenly from the shadow of the roadside, and bade him 
halt. 



Thankful Blossom. 137 

" Captain Brewster — if this moon dpes not deceive me ? " 
queried the foremost stranger with grave civihty. 

"The same. ^lajor Van Zandt, I calculate?" returned 
Brewster querulously. 

"Your calculation is quite right. I regret, Captain 
Brewster, that it is my duty to inform you that you are 
under arrest." 

" By whose orders ? '^ 

" The Commander-in-Chiefs." 

" For what ? " 

" Mutinous conduct, and disrespect of your superior 
officers." 

The sword that Captain Brewster had drawn at the 
sudden appearance of the strangers quivered for a moment 
in his strong hand. Then, sharply striking it across the 
pommel of his saddle, he snapped it in twain, and cast the 
pieces at the feet of the speaker. 

" Go on," he said doggedly. 

" Captain Brewster," said Major Van Zandt, with infinite 
gravity, "it is not for me to point out the danger to you of 
this outspoken emotion, except, practicahy, in its effect 
upon the rations you have in your pocket. If I mistake 
not, they have suffered equally with your steel. Forward, 
march ! " 

Captain Brewster looked down and then dropped to the 
rear, as the diseased yolks of Mistress ThankfuFs most 
precious gift slid slowly and pensively over his horse's 
flanks to the ground. 



1 38 Thankful Blossom. 



PART 11. 

Mistress Thankful remained at the wall until her lover 
had disappeared. Then she turned, a mere lissom shadow- 
in that uncertain light, and glided under the eaves of the 
shed, and thence from tree to tree of the orchard, lingering 
a moment under each as a trout lingers in the shadow of 
the bank in passing a shallow, and so reached the farm- 
house and the kitchen door, where she entered. Thence 
by a back staircase she slipped to her own bower, from 
whose window half an hour before she had taken the 
signalling light. This she lit again and placed upon a 
chest of drawers, and taking off her hood and a shapeless, 
sleeveless mantle she had worn, went to the mirror and 
proceeded to readjust a high horn comb that had been 
somewhat displaced by the Captain's arm, and otherwise, 
after the fashion of her sex, to remove all traces of a pre- 
vious lover. It may be here observed that a man is very 
apt to come from the smallest encounter with his Dulcinea, 
distrait, bored, or shamefaced — to forget that his cravat is 
awry, or that a long blonde hair is adhering to his button. 
But as to Mademoiselle — well, looking at Miss Pussy's sleek 
paws and spotless face, would you ever know that she had 
been at the cream jug ? 

Thankful was, I think, satisfied with her appearance. 
Small doubt but she had reason for it. And yet her gown 
was a mere slip of flowered chintz, gathered at the neck, 
and falling at an angle of fifteen degrees to within an inch 
of a short petticoat of grey flannel. But so surely is the 
complete mould of symmetry indicated in the poise or line 
of any single member, that, looking at the erect carriage of 
her graceful brown head, or below to the curves that were 
lost in her shapely ankles, or the little feet that hid them- 



Thankful Blossom. * 139 

selves in the broad-buckled shoes, you knew that the rest 
was as genuine and beautiful. 

Mistress Thankful, after a pause, opened the door and 
listened. Then she softly slipped down the back staircase 
to the front hall. It was dark, but the door of the 
" company room " or parlour was faintly indicated by the 
light that streamed beneath it. She stood still for a 
moment, hesitatingly, when suddenly a hand grasped her 
own, and half led, half dragged her into the sitting-room 
opposite. It was dark. There was a momentary fumbling 
for the tinder-box and flint, a muttered oath over one or 
two impeding articles of furniture, and Thankful laughed. 
And then the light was lit, and her father, a grey, wrinkled 
man of sixty, still holding her hand, stood before her. 

" You have been out, Mistress ? " 

*' I have," said Thankful. 

" And not alone," growled the old man angrily. 

" No," said Mistress Thankful, with a smile that began 
in the corners of her brown eyes, ran down into the 
dimpled curves • of her mouth, and finally ended in the 
sudden revelation of her white teeth ; "no, not alone." 

"With whom?" asked the old man, gradually weakening 
under her strong, saucy presence. 

"Well, father," said Thankful, taking a seat on a table, 
and swinging her little feet somewhat ostentatiously toward 
him, "I was with Captain Allan Brewster of the Connecticut 
Contingent." 

"That man?" 

"That man!" 

" I forbid you seeing him again." 

Thankful gripped the table with a hand on each side of 
her, to emphasise the statement, and swinging her feet, 
replied — 

" I shall see him as often as I like, father ! " 



140 Thankful Blossom, 

"Thankful Blossom!" 

"Abner Blossom !" 

"I see you know not," said Mr. Blossom, abandoning 
the severely paternal mandatory air for one of confidential 
disclosure, " I see you know not his reputation. He is 
accused of inciting his regiment to revolt — of being a 
traitor to the cause." 

"And since when, Abner Blossom, \i7iNQ, you felt such 
concern for the cause ? Since you refused to sell supplies 
to the Continental commissary, except at double profits? 
Since you told me you were glad I had not politics like 
Mistress Ford" 

"Hush !" said the father, motioning to the parlour. 

" Hush !" echoed Thankful indignantly, " I won't be 
hushed ! Everybody says ' hush ' to me. The Count says 
* hush ! ' Allan says ' hush ! ' You say ' hush ! ' I'm aweary 
of this hushing. Ah, if there was a man who didn't say 
it to me ! " and Mistress Thankful lifted her fine eyes to 
the ceihng. 

"You are unwise, Thankful; fooHsh, indiscreet. That 
is why you require much monition." 

Thankful swung her feet in silence for a few moments, 
then suddenly leaped from the table, and seizing the old 
man by the lappels of his coat, fixed her eyes upon him, 
and said, suspiciously — 

" Why did you keep me from going into the company 
room ? Why did you bring me in here ? " 

Blossom senior was staggered for a moment. " Because, 
you know, the Count" 

"And you were afraid the Count should know I had a 
sweetheart ? Well — I'll go in and tell him now," she said, 
marching toward the door. 

" Then why did you not tell him when you slipped out 
an hour ago? Eh, lass?" queried the old man, grasping 



Thankful Blossom. 1 4 1 

her hand. " But 'tis all one, Thankful — 'twas not for him 
I stopped you. There is a young spark with him — ay, 
came even as you left, lass — a likely young gallant, and he 
and the Count are jabbering away in their own lingo — a 
kind of Italian, belike — eh, Thankful?" 

" I know not," she said thoughtfully. " Which way 
came the other ? " In fact, a fear that this young stranger 
might have witnessed the Captain's embrace, began to 
creep over her. 

"From town, my lass." 

Thankful turned to her father as if she had been waiting 
a reply to a long-asked question. "Well?" 

"Were it not well to put on a few furbelows and a 
tucker?" queried the old man. "'Tis a gallant young 
spark; none of your country folk." 

" No," said Thankful, with the promptness of a woman 
who was looking her best, and knew it. And the old man, 
looking at her, accepted her judgment, and without another 
w^ord led her to the parlour door, and opening it, said 
briefly, " My daughter, Mistress Thankful Blossom." 

With the opening of the door came the sound of earnest 
voices that instantly ceased upon the appearance of 
Mistress Thankful. Two gentlemen lolling before the fire 
arose instantly, and one came forward with an air of 
familiar yet respectful recognition. 

" Nay, this is far too great happiness. Mistress Thankful," 
he said, with a strongly-marked foreign accent and a still 
more strongly-marked foreign manner. " I have been in 
despair, and my friend here, the Baron Pomposo, likewise." 

The slightest trace of a smile and the swiftest of reproach- 
ful glances lit up the dark face of the Baron as he bowed 
low in the introduction. Thankful dropped the courtesy 
of the period — i.e., a duck, with semi-circular sweep of the 
right foot forward. But the right foot was so pretty and 



142 Thankful Blossom. 

the grace of the little figure so perfect, that the Baron raised 
his eyes from the foot to the face in serious admiration. In 
the one rapid feminine glance she had given him she had 
seen that he was handsome ; in the second, which she 
could not help from his protracted silence, she saw that 
his beauty centred in his girlish, half fawn-like, dark 
eyes. 

" The Baron," explained Mr. Blossom, rubbing his hands 
together, as if, through mere friction, he was trying to im- 
part a warmth to the reception which his hard face dis- 
countenanced, "the Baron visits us under discouragement. 
He comes from far countries. It is the custom of gentle 
folk of — of — foreign extraction to wander through strange 
lands, commenting upon the habits and doings of the 
peoples. He will find in Jersey," continued Mr. Blossom, 
appealing to Thankful, yet really evading her contemptuous 
glance, " a hard-working yeomanry, ever ready to welcome 
the stranger, and account to him penny for penny, for all 
his necessary expenditure. For which purpose, in these 
troublous times, he will provide for himself gold or other 
moneys not affected by these local disturbances." 

''He will find, good friend Blossom," said the Baron, in 
a rapid, voluble way, utterly at variance with the soft, quiet 
gravity of his eyes, " Beauty, Grace, Accom — plishment, 
and — eh — Santa Maria ! what shall I say ? " He turned 
appealingly to the Count. 

" Virtue," nodded the Count. 

" Truly, Birtoo ! all in the fair lady of thees countries. 
Ah, believe me, honest friend Blossom, there is mooch 
more in thees than in thoss ! " 

So much of this speech was addressed to Mistress 
Thankful that she had to show at least one dimple in reply, 
albeit her brows were slightly knit, and she had turned upon 
the speaker her honest questioning eyes. 



Thankful Blossom. 1 4 3 

** And then the General Washington has been kind 
enough to offer his protection," added the Count. 

" Any fool — any one," supplemented Thankful hastily, 
with a slight blush, " may have the General's pass — ay, 
and his good word. But what of Mistress Prudence Book- 
staver ? She that has a sweetheart in Knyphausen's Brigade 
— ay, I warrant a Hessian, but of gentle blood, as Mistress 
Prudence has often told me ; and look you, all her letters 
stopped by the General — ay, I warrant read by my Lady 
Washington, too — as if 'twere her fault that her lad was in 
arms against Congress. Riddle me that, now ? " 

'"Tis but prudence, lass," said Blossom, frowning on 
the girl. "'Tis that she might disclose some movement 
of the army tending to defeat the enemy." 

" And why should she not try to save her lad from cap- 
ture or ambuscade, such as befell the Hessian commissary 
with the provisions that you " 

Mr. Blossom, in an ostensible fatherly embrace, managed 
to pinch Mistress Thankful sharply. " Hush, lass," he 
said, with simulated playfulness ; " your tongue clacks like 
the Whippany mill. My daughter has small concern — 'tis 
the manner of women folk — in politics," he explained to 
his guests. " These dangersome days have given her sore 
affliction, by way of parting comrades of her childhood and 
others whom she has much affected. It has in some sort 
soured her." 

Mr. Blossom would have recalled this speech as soon as 
it escaped him, lest it should lead to a revelation from the 
truthful Mistress Thankful of her relations with the Con- 
tinental Captain. But to his astonishment, and I may add, 
to my own, she showed nothing of that disposition she had 
exhibited a few moments before. On the contrary, she 
blushed slightly, and said nothing. 

And then the conversation changed— upon the, weather, 



144 Thankful Blossom. 

the hard winter, the prospects of the cause, a criticism 
upon the Commander-in-Chief's management of affairs, the 
attitude of Congress, &c., &c., between Mr. Blossom and 
the Count, characterised, I hardly need say, by that posi- 
tiveness of opinion that distinguishes the unprofessional. 
In another part of the room it so chanced that Mistress 
Thankful and the Baron were talking about themselves, the 
Assembly balls, who was the prettiest woman in Morristown,. 
and whether General Washington's attentions to Mistress 
Pyne were only perfunctory gallantry or what, and if Lady 
Washington's hair was really gray, and if that young aide-de- 
camp Major Van Zandt were really in love with Lady W., or 
whether his attentions were only the zeal of a subaltern. 
In the midst of which a sudden gust of wind shook the 
house, and Mr. Blossom, going to the front door, came back 
with the announcement that it was snowing heavily. 

And indeed, within that past hour, to their astonished 
eyes the whole face of nature had changed. The moon 
was gone, the sky hidden in a blinding, whirling swarm of 
stinging flakes. The wind, bitter and strong, had already 
fashioned white, feathery drifts upon the threshold, over 
the painted benches on the porch, and against the door 
posts. 

Mistress Thankful and the Baron had walked to the rear 
door — the Baron with a slight, tropical shudder — to view 
this meteorological change. As Mistress Thankful looked 
over the snowy landscape, it seemed to her that all record 
of her past experience had been effaced — her very foot- 
prints of an hour before were lost — the gray wall on which 
she leaned was white and spotless now ; even the familiar 
farm-shed looked dim and strange and ghostly. Had she 
been there — had she seen the Captain — was it all a fancy ? 
She scarcely knew. 

A sudden gust of wind closed the door behind them with 



Thankful Blossom, 145 

a crash, and sent Mistress Thankful, with a slight feminine 
scream, forward into the outer darkness. But the Baron 
caught her by the waist, and saved her from Heaven knows 
what imaginable disaster, and the scene ended in a half 
hysterical laugh. But the wind then set upon them both 
with a malevolent fury, and the Baron was, I presume, 
obliged to draw her closer to his side. 

They were alone — save for the presence of those 
mischievous confederates, Nature and Opportunity. In the 
half obscurity of the storm she could not help turning her 
mischievous eyes on his ; but she was perhaps surprised to 
find them luminous, soft, and as it seemed to her at that 
moment, grave beyond the occasion. An embarrassment 
utterly new and singular seized upon her, and when, as she 
half feared yet half expected, he bent down and pressed his 
lips to hers, she was for a moment powerless ; but in the 
next instant she boxed his ears sharply and vanished in the 
darkness. When Mr. Blossom opened the door to the 
Baron he was surprised to find that gentleman alone, and 
still more surprised to find, when they re-entered the house, 
to see Mistress Thankful enter at the same moment, 
demurely, from the front door. 

When Mr. Blossom knocked at his daughter's door the 
next morning it opened upon her completely dressed, but 
withal somewhat pale, and if the truth must be told, a 
little surly. 

" And you were stirring so early. Thankful," he said ; 
"'twould have been but decent to have bidden Godspeed 
to the guests — especially the Baron, who seemed much 
concerned at your absence." 

Miss Thankful blushed slightly, but answered with 
savage celerity, " And since when is it necessary that I 
should dance attendance upon every foreign jack-in-the-box 
that may he at the house ? " 

VOL. V. K 



1 46 Thankful Blossom. 

" He has shown great courtesy to you, mistress — and is 
a gentleman." 

" Courtesy, indeed ! " said Mistress Thankful. 

" He has not presumed ? " said Mr. Blossom suddenly, 
bringing his cold, gray eyes to bear upon his daughter's. 

"No, no," said Thankful hurriedly, flaming a bright 
scarlet; "but — nothing. But what have you there — a 
letter?" 

" Ay — from the Captain, I warrant ! " said Mr. Blossom, 
handing her a three-cornered bit of paper; "'twas left 
here by a camp-followen Thankful," he continued, with a 
meaning glance, "you will heed my counsel in season. 
The Captain is not meet for such as you." 

Thankful suddenly grew pale and contemptuous again as 
she snatched the letter from his hand. When his retiring 
footsteps were lost on the stairs, she regained her colour 
and opened the letter. It was slovenly written, grievously 
misspelled, and read as follows : — 

"Sweetheart, — A tyranous Act, begotten in Envy and 
Jealousie, keeps me here a prisoner. Last night I was 
Basely arrested by Servile Hands for that Freedom of 
Thought and Expression for which I have already Sacrifized 
so much — aye all that Man hath but Love and Honour. 
But the End is Near. When for the Maintenance of Power, 
the Liberties of the Peoples are subdued by Martial 
Supremacy and the Dictates of Ambition the State is Lost. 
I lie in vile Bondage here in Morristown under charge of 
Disrespeck — me that a twelvemonth past left a home and 
Respectable Connexions to serve my Country. Believe me 
still your own Love, albeit in the Power of Tyrants and 
condemned it may be to the scaffold. 

" The Messenger is Trustworthy and will speed safely to 
me such as you may deliver unto him. The Provender 



Thankful Blossom, 147 

sanktified by your Hands and made precious by yr. Love 
was wrested from me by Servil Hands and the Eggs, 
Sweetheart, were somewhat Addled. The Bacon is, me- 
thinks, by this time on the Table of the Com'-in-chief. 
Such is Tyranny and Ambition. Sweetheart, farewell for 
the present. - Allan." 

Mistress Thankful read this composition once, twice, 
and then tore it up. Then, reflecting that it was the first 
letter of her lover's that she had not kept, she tried to put 
together again the torn fragments, but vainly — and then in 
a pet, new to her, cast them from the window. During the 
rest of the day she was considerably distraite, and even 
manifested more temper than she was wont to do, and 
later, when her father rode away on his daily" visit to 
Morristown, she felt strangely relieved. By noon the snow 
ceased, or rather turned into a driving sleet that again in 
turn gave way to rain. By this time she became absorbed 
in her household duties — in which she was usually skilful — 
and in her own thoughts that to-day had a novelty in their 
meaning. In the midst of this, at about dark, her room 
being in rear of the house, she was perhaps unmindful of 
the trampling of horse without, or the sound of voices in 
the hall below. Neither were uncommon at that time. 
Although protected by the Continental army, from forage 
or the rudeness of soldiery, the Blossom farm had always 
been a halting place for passing troopers, commissary team- 
sters, and reconnoitring officers. General Sullivan and 
Colonel Hamilton had watered their horses at its broad 
substantial wayside trough, and sat in the shade of its porch. 
Mistress Thankful was only awakened from her day 
dream by the entrance of the negro farm hand, Caesar. 

"Fo' God, Missy Thankful, them sogers is g'wine into 
camp in the road, I reckon, for they's jest makin' they 



148 Thankful Blossom, 

seves free afo' the house, and they's an officer in the 
company room with his spurs cocked on the table, readin' 
a book." 

A quick flame leaped into Thankful's cheek, and her 
pretty brows knit themselves over darkening eyes. She 
arose from her work — no longer the moody girl, but an 
indignant goddess, and pushing the servant aside, swept 
down the stairs and threw open the door. 

An officer, sitting by the fire in an easy, lounging attitude 
that justified the servant's criticism, arose instantly, with 
an air of evident embarrassment and surprise that was, 
however, as quickly dominated and controlled by a gentle- 
man's breeding. 

" I beg your pardon," he said, with a deep inclination of 
his handsome head, '' but I had no idea that there was any 
member of this household at home — at least a lady." He 
hesitated a moment, catching in the raising of her brown- 
fringed lids a sudden revelation of her beauty, and partly 
losing his composure. " I am Major Van Zandt ; I have 
the honour of addressing " 

"Thankful Blossom," said Thankful, a little proudly, 
divining with a woman's swift instinct the cause of the 
Major's hesitation. But her triumph was checked by a 
new embarrassment, visible in the face of the officer at the 
mention of her name. 

" Thankful Blossom," repeated the officer quickly. 
**You are then the daughter of Abner Blossom ? " 

*' Certainly," said Thankful, turning her inquiring eyes 
upon him; "he will be here betimes. He has gone only 
to Morristown." In a new fear that had taken possession 
of her, her questioning eyes asked, " Has he not ? " 

The officer answering her eyes rather than her lips, came 
toward her gravely. " He will not return to-day, Mistress 
Thankful, nor perhaps even to-morrow. He is — a prisoner." 



Thankful Blossom. 149 

Thankful opened her brown eyes aggressively on the 
Major. '^ A prisoner — for what ? " 

"For aiding and giving comfort to the enemy, and for 
harbouring spies," replied the Major, with military curtness. 

Mistress Thankful's cheek flushed slightly at the last 
sentence ; a recollection of the scene on the porch and the 
Baron's stolen kiss flashed across her, and for a moment 
she looked as guilty as if the man before her had been a 
witness to the deed. He saw it, and misinterpreted her 
confusion. 

" Belike, then," said Mistress Thankful, slightly raising 
her voice, and standing squarely before the Major, '• Belike, 
then, / should be a prisoner, too, for the guests of this 
house, if they be spies, were 7ny guests, and as my father's 
daughter, I was their hostess. Ay, man, and right glad to 
be the hostess of such gallant gentlemen. Gentlemen, I 
warrant, too fine to insult a defenceless girl — gentlemen 
spies that did not cock their boots on the table or turn an 
honest farmer's house into a tap-room." 

An expression of half pain, half amusement covered the 
face of the Major, but he made no other reply than by a 
profound and graceful bow. Courteous and deprecatory 
as it was, it apparently exasperated Mistress Thankful only 
the more. 

" And pray who are these spies, and who is the 
informer ? " said Mistress Thankful, facing the soldier, with 
one hand truculently placed on her flexible hip, and the 
other slipped behind her. " Methinks 'tis only honest we 
should know when and how we have entertained both." 

"Your father, Mistress Thankful," said Major Van 
Zandt gravely, " has long been suspected of favouring the 
enemy ; but it has been the policy of the Commander-in- 
Chief to overlook the political preferences of non-com- 
batants, and to strive to win their allegiance to the good 



1 50 Thankful Blossom. 

cause by liberal privileges. But when it was lately dis- 
covered that two strangers, although bearing a pass from 
him, have been frequenters of this house under fictitious 



" You mean Count Ferdinand and the Baron Pomposo," 
said Thankful quickly j " two honest gentlefolk, and if 
they choose to pay their devoirs to a lass — although, 
perhaps, not a quality lady, yet an honest girl " 

" Dear Mistress Thankful," said the Major, with a pro- 
found bow and smile that, spite of its courtesy, drove 
Thankful to the verge of wrathful hysterics, "if you 
establish that fact — and from this slight acquaintance with 
your charms, I doubt not you will — your father is safe from 
further inquiry or detention. The Commander-in-Chief is 
a gentleman who has never underrated the influence of 
your sex, nor held himself averse to its fascinations." 

" What is the name of this informer ? " broke in Mistress 
Thankful angrily. " Who is it that has dared " 

" It is but King's evidence, mayhap. Mistress Thankful, 
for the informer is himself under arrest. It is on the 
information of Captain Allan Brewster, of the Connecticut 
Contingent." 

Mistress Thankful whitened, then flushed, and then 
whitened again. Then she stood up to the Major. 

" It's a lie — a cowardly lie ! " 

Major Van Zandt bowed. Mistress Thankful flew up- 
stairs, and in another moment swept back again into the 
room in riding hat and habit. 

" I suppose I can go and see — my fa,ther," she said, 
without lifting her eyes to the officer. 

''You are free as air, Mistress Thankful. My orders 
and instructions, far from implicating you in your father's 
offences, do not even suggest your existence. Let me help 
you to your horse." 



Thankful Blossom. 151 

The girl did not reply. During that brief interval, how- 
ever, Caesar had saddled her white mare and brought it to 
the door. Mistress Thankful, disdaining the offered hand 
of the Major, sprang to the saddle. 

The Major still held the reins, " One moment. Mistress 
Thankful." 

" Let me go," she said, with suppressed passion. 

"One moment, I beg." 

His hand still held the bridle-rein. The mare reared, 
nearly upsetting her. Crimson with rage and mortification, 
she raised her riding-whip and laid it smartly over the face 
of the man before her. 

He dropped the rein instantly. Then he raised to her 
a face, calm and colourless but for a red line extending 
from his eyebrow to his chin, and said quietly — 

" I had no desire to detain you. I only wished to say 
that when you see General Washington I know you will be 
just enough to tell him that Major Van Zandt knew nothing 
of your wrongs, or even your presence here, until you pre- 
sented them, and that since then he has treated you as 
became an ofl&cer and gentleman." 

Yet even as he spoke she was gone. At the moment 
that her fluttering skirt swept in a furious gallop down the 
hill-side, the Major turned and re-entered the house. The 
few lounging troopers who were witnesses of the scene 
prudently turned their eyes from the white face and blazing 
eyes of their officer as he strode by them. Nevertheless, 
when the door closed behind him, contemporary criticism 
broke out — 

"'Tis a Tory jade, vexed that she cannot befool the 
Major as she has the Captain," muttered Sergeant Tibbitts. 

"And going to try her tricks on the General," added 
Private Hicks. 

Howbeit, both these critics may have been wrong. For 



152 Thankful Blossom, 

as Mistress Thankful thundered down the Morristown road 
she thought of many things. She thought of her sweet- 
heart, Allan, a prisoner, and pining for her help and her 
solicitude, and yet — how dared he — if he had really be- 
trayed or misjudged her ! And then she thought bitterly 
of the Count and the Baron — and burned to face the latter, 
and in some vague way charge the stolen kiss upon him as 
the cause of all her shame and mortification. And, lastly 
she thought of her father, and began to hate everybody. 
But, above all, and through all, in her vague fears for her 
father, in her passionate indignation against the Baron, in 
her fretful impatience of Allan, one thing was ever dominant 
and obtrusive — one thing she tried to put away, but could 
not — the handsome, colourless face of Major' Van Zandt 
with the red welt of her riding- whip overlying its cold 
outlines. 



PART III. 

The rising wind, which had ridden much faster than 
Mistress Thankful, had increased to a gale by the time it 
reached Morristown. It swept through the leafless maples, 
and rattled the dry bones of the elms. It whistled through 
the quiet Presbyterian churchyard, as if trying to arouse 
the sleepers it had known in days gone by. It shook the 
blank, lustreless windows of the Assembly Rooms over the 
Freemasons' Tavern, and wrought in their gusty curtains 
moving shadows of those amply-petticoated dames and 
tightly-hosed cavaliers who had swung in " Sir Roger," or 
jigged in " Money Musk " the night before. 

But, I fancy, it was around the isolated "Ford Mansion," 
better known as the " Head-quarters," that the wind 
wreaked its grotesque rage. It howled under its scant 
eaves, it sang under its bleak porch, it tweaked the peak 



Thankful Blossom. 153 

of its front gable, it whistled through every chink and 
cranny of its square, solid, unpicturesque structure. Situ- 
ated on a hill-side that descended rapidly to the Whippany 
river, every summer zephyr that whispered through the 
porches of the Morristown farmhouses, charged as a stiff 
breeze upon the swinging half-doors and windows of the 
"Ford Mansion," every wintry wind became a gale that 
threatened its security. The sentry who paced^efore its 
front porch knew from experience when to linger under its 
lee and adjust his threadbare outer coat to the bitter north 
wind. 

Within the house something of this cheerlessness pre- 
vailed. It had an ascetic gloom, which the scant firelight 
of the reception-room, and the dying embers on the dining- 
room hearth failed to dissipate. The central hall was 
broad, and furnished plainly with a few rush-bottomed 
chairs, on one of which half dozed a black body servant of 
the Commander-in-Chief. Two officers in the dining-room, 
drawn close by the chimney corner, chatted in undertones, 
as if mindful that the door of the drawing-room was open, 
and their voices might break in upon its sacred privacy. 
The swinging light in the hall partly illuminated, or rather 
glanced gloomily from the black, polished furniture, the 
lustreless chairs, the quaint cabinet, the silent spinnet, the 
skeleton-legged centre table, and finally, upon the motion- 
less figure of a man seated by the fire. 

It was a figure, since so well-known to the civilised 
world, since so celebrated in print and painting as to need 
no description here. Its rare combination of gentle dignity 
with profound force — of a set resoluteness of purpose with 
a philosophical patience have been so frequently delivered 
to a people not particularly remarkable for these qualities, 
that I fear it has too often provoked a spirit of playful 
aggression, in which the deeper underlying meaning was 



1 54 Thankful Blossom, 

forgotten. So let me add that in manner, physical equi- 
poise, and even in the mere details of dress, this figure 
indicated a certain aristocratic exclusiveness. It was the 
presentment of a King — a King who, by the irony of cir- 
cumstances was just. then waging war against all kingship : 
a ruler of men who just then was fighting for the right 
of these men to govern themselves, but whom, by his 
own inherent right, he dominated. From the crown of his 
powdered head to the silver buckle of his shoe, he was so 
royal that it was not strange that his brother, George of 
England and Hanover — ruling by accident, otherwise 
impiously known as the " Grace of God " — could find no 
better way of resisting his pr ,/er than by calling him " Mr. 
Washington." 

The sound of horses' hoofs, the formal challenge of 
sentry, the grave questioning of the officer of the guard, 
followed by footsteps upon the porch, did not apparently 
disturb his meditation. Nor did the opening of the outer 
door .and a charge of cold air into the hall that invaded 
even the privacy of the reception-room and brightened the 
dying embers on the hearth, stir his calm pre-occupation. 
But an instant later there was the distinct rustle of a femi- 
nine skirt in the hall, a hurried whispering of men's voices, 
and then the sudden apparition of a smooth, fresh-faced 
young officer over the shoulder of the unconscious figure. 

"I beg your pardon. General," said the officer doubt- 
ingly, "but" 

"You are not intruding, Colonel Hamilton," said the 
General quietly. 

" There is a young lady without who wishes an audience 
of your Excellency ; 'tis Mistress Thankful Blossom, the 
daughter of Abner Blossom — charged with treasonous prac- 
tice and favouring the enemy — now in the guard-house at 
Morristown." 



Thankful Blossom. 155 

"Thankful Blossom?" repeated the General interroga- 
tively. 

" Your Excellency, doubtless, remembers a little pro- 
vincial beauty and a famous toast of the country side — the 
Cressida of our Morristown epic, who led our gallant Con- 
necticut Captain astray" 

"You have the advantages, besides the better memory 
of a younger man, Colonel," said Washington, with a play- 
ful smile that slightly reddened the cheek of his aide-de- 
camp. "Yet I think I have heard of this phenomenon. 
By all means admit her — and her escort." 

" She is alone. General," responded the subordinate. 

" Then the more reason wLy we should be polite," re- 
turned Washington, for the first time altering his easy 
posture, rising to his feet, and lightly grasping his ruffled 
hands before him. " We must not keep her waiting. Give 
her access, my dear Colonel, at once. And — even as she 
came — alone.'" 

The aide-de-camp bowed and withdrew. In another 
moment the half-opened door swung wide to Mistress 
Thankful Blossom. 

She was so beautiful in her simple riding dress, so quaint 
and original in that very beauty, and, above all, so teeming 
with a certain vital earnestness of purpose, just positive 
and audacious enough to set off that beauty, that the grave 
gentleman before her did not content himself with the 
usual formal inclination of courtesy, but actually advanced, 
and taking her cold little hand in his, graciously led her to 
the chair he had just vacated. 

" Even if your name were not known to me, Mistress 
Thankful," said the Commander-in-Chief, looking down 
upon her with grave politeness, "nature has, methinks, 
spared you the necessity of any introduction to the courtesy 
or a gentleman. But how can I especially serve you ? " 



156 Thankful Blossom, 

Alack ! the blaze of Mistress Thankful's brown eyes had 
become somewhat dimmed in the grave half-lights of the 
room, in the graver, deeper dignity of the erect, soldier-like 
figure before her. The bright colour, born of the tempest 
within and without, had somehow faded from her cheek; 
the sauciness begotten from bullying her horse in the last 
half hour's rapid ride, was so subdued by the actual presence 
of the man she had come to bully, that I fear she had to use 
all her self-control to keep down her inclination to whimper 
and to keep back the tears that, oddly enough, rose to her 
sweet eyes as she lifted them to the quietly-critical yet 
placid glance of her interlocutor. 

" I can readily conceive the motive of this visit, Miss 
Thankful," continued Washington, with a certain dignified 
kindliness that was more reassuring than the formal gallantry 
of the period, "and it is, I protest, to your credit. A 
father's welfare — however erring and weak that father may 
be — is most seemly in a maiden." 

Thankful's eyes flashed again as she rose to her feet. 
Her upper lip, that had a moment before trembled in a 
pretty infantine distress, now stiflened and curled as she 
confronted the dignified figure before her. "It is not of 
my father I would speak," she said saucily, "I did not 
ride here alone to-night, in the weather, to talk of hiiri ; I 
warrant he can speak for himself. I came here to speak 
of myself — of lies — ay, lies, told of me, a poor girl — ay, 
of cowardly gossip about me and my sweetheart, Captain 
Brewster, now confined in prison, because he hath loved 
me, a lass without politics or adherence to the cause — as 
if 'twere necessary every lad should ask the confidence or 
permission of yourself or, belike, my Lady Washington in 
his preferences." 

She paused a moment, out of breath. With a woman's 
quickness of intuition she saw the change in Washington's 



Thankful Blossom. 157 

face — saw a certain cold severity overshadowing it. With 
a woman's fateful persistency — a persistency which I humbly 
suggest might on occasion be honourably copied by our 
more politic sex — she went on to say what was in her, even 
if she were obhged, with a woman's honourable inconsis- 
tency, to unsay it an hour or two later — an inconsistency 
which I also humbly protest might be as honourably imi- 
tated by us — on occasion. 

'•'It has been said," said Thankful Blossom quickly, 
" that my father has given entertainment knowingly to two 
spies — two spies tliat, begging your Excellency's pardon, 
and the pardon of Congress, I know only as two honourable 
gentlemen, who have as honourably tendered me their 
affections. It is said, and basely and most falsely too, that 
my sweetheart, Captain Allan Brewster, has lodged this' 
information. I have ridden here to deny it. I have ridden 
here to demand of you that an honest woman's reputation 
shall not be sacrificed to the interests of politics. That a 
prying mob of ragamuffins shall not be sent to an honest 
farmer's house to spy and spy — and turn a poor girl out of 
doors that they might do it. 'Tis shameful — so it is — 
there ! 'Tis most scandalous — so it is — there now. Spies 
indeed — what are they^ pray?" 

In the indignation which the recollection of her wrongs 
had slowly gathered in her, from the beginning of this 
speech, she had advanced her face, rosy with courage, and 
beautiful in its impertinence, within a few inches of the 
dignified features and quiet grey eyes of the great com- 
mander. To her utter stupefaction, he bent his head and 
kissed her, with a grave benignity, full on the centre of her 
audacious forehead. 

''Be seated, I beg, Mistress Blossom," he said, taking 
her cold hand in his, and quietly replacing her in the un- 
occupied chair. " Be seated, I beg, and give me, if you 



158 Thankful Blossom, 

can, your attention for a moment. The officer entrusted 
with the ungracious task of occupying your father's house 
is a member of my military family and a gentleman. If he 
has so far forgotten himself — if he has so far disgraced him- 
self and me as " 



" No ! no ! " uttered Thankful, with feverish alacrity, 
" the gentleVnan was most considerate ! On the contrary — 

mayhap — I," she hesitated, and then came to a full 

stop, with a heightened colour, as a vivid recollection of 
that gentleman's face, with the mark of her riding whip 
lying across it, rose before her. 

" I was about to say that Major Van Zandt, as a gentle- 
man, has known how to fully excuse the natural impulses 
of a daughter," continued Washington, with a look of per- 
fect understanding, " but let me now satisfy you on another 
point, where, it would seem, we greatly differ." 

He walked to the door and summoned his servant, to 
whom he gave an order. In another moment the fresh- 
faced young officer, who had at first admitted her, re- 
appeared with a file of official papers. He glanced slyly 
at Thankful Blossom's face with an amused look, as if he 
had already heard the colloquy between her and his 
superior officer, and had appreciated that which neither of 
the earnest actors in the scene had themselves felt — a cer- 
tain sense of humour in the situation. 

Howbeit, standing before them, Colonel Hamilton gravely 
turned over the file of papers. Thankful bit her lips in 
embarrassment. A slight feeling of awe and a presenti- 
ment of some fast-coming shame ; a new and strange con- 
sciousness of herself, her surroundings, of the dignity of 
the two men before her, an uneasy feeling of the presence 
of two ladies who had in some mysterious way entered the 
room from another door, and who seemed to be intently 
regarding her from afar with a curiosity as if she were some 



Thankful Blossom. 1 59 

strange animal, and a wild premonition that her whole 
future life and happiness depended upon the events of the 
next i^\N moments, so took possession of her that the brave 
girl trembled for a moment in her isolation and loneliness. 
In another instant, Colonel Hamilton speaking to his 
superior, but looking obviously at one of the ladies who had 
entered, handed a paper to Washington, and said, " Here 
are the charges." 

"Read them," said the General coldly. 

Colonel Hamilton with a manifest consciousness of 
another hearer than Mistress Blossom and his General, read 
the paper. It was couched in phrases of military and legal 
precision, and related briefly that upon the certain and 
personal knowledge of the writer, Abner Blossom of the 
*' Blossom Farm," was in the habit of entertaining two 
gentlemen, namely, the "Count Ferdinand" and the 
" Baron Pomposo," suspected enemies of the cause, and 
possible traitors to the Continental Army. It was signed 
by Allan Brewster, late Captain in the Connecticut 
Contingent. As Colonel Hamilton exhibited the sig- 
nature. Thankful Blossom had no difficulty in recognising 
the familiar bad hand, and equally familiar misspelling of 
her lover. 

She rose to her feet. With eyes that showed her present 
trouble and perplexity as frankly as they had a moment 
before blazed with her indignation, she met, one by one, 
the glances of the group who now seemed to be closing 
round her. Yet with a woman's instinct she felt, I 
am constrained to say, more unfriendliness in the silent 
presence of the two women than in the possible outspoken 
criticism of our much abused sex. 

" Of course," said a voice, which Thankful at once, by a 
woman's unerring instinct, recognised as the elder of the 
two ladies, and the legitimate keeper of the conscience of 



i6o Thankful Blossom. 

some one of the men who were present, "of course Mistress 
Thankful will be able to elect which of her lovers among 
her country's enemies she will be able to cling to for support 
in her present emergency. She does not seem to have 
been so special in her favours as to have positively excluded 
any one." 

" At least, dear Lady Washington, she will not give it 
to the man who has proven a traitor to her^^ said the 
younger woman impulsively. That is — I beg your lady- 
ship's pardon" — she hesitated, observing in the dead silence 
that ensued that the two superior male beings present looked 
at each other in lofty astonishment. 

" He that is trait'rous to his country," said Lady Wash- 
ington coldly, " is apt to be trait'rous elsewhere." 

" 'Twere as honest to say that he that was trait'rous to 
his King, was trait'rous to his country," said Mistress 
Thankful, with sudden audacity, bending her knit brows 
on Lady Washington. But that lady turned dignifiedly 
away, and Mistress Thankful again faced the General. 

"I ask your pardon," she said proudly, "for troubling 
you with my wrongs. But it seems to me that even if 
another and a greater wrong were done me by my sweetheart, 
through jealousy, it would not justify this accusation against 
me, even though," she added, darting a wicked glance at 
the placid brocaded back of Lady Washington, " even 
though that accusation came from one who knows that 
jealousy may belong to the wife of a patriot as well as a 
traitor." She was herself again, after this speech, although 
her face was white with the blow she had taken and 
returned. 

Colonel Hamilton passed his hand across his mouth and 
coughed slightly. General Washington standing by the fire 
with an impassive face turned to Thankful gravely — 

" You are forgetting. Mistress Thankful, that you have 



Thankful Blossom. 1 6 1 

not told me how I can serve you. It cannot be that you 
are still concerned in Captain Brewster, who has given evid- 
ence against your other friends^ and tacitly against _>w/. 

Nor can it be on their account, for I regret to say they are 
still free and unknown. If you come with any information 
exculpating them, and showing they are not spies or nostile 
to the cause, your father's release shall be certain and speedy. 
Let me ask you a single question. Why do you believe 
them honest ? " 

" Because," said Mistress Thankful, " they were — were — 
gentlemen." 

" Many spies have been of excellent family, good address, 
and fair talents," said Washington gravely ; " but you have, 
mayhap, some other reason." 

" Because they talked only to me," said Mistress Thank- 
ful, blushing mightily ; " because they preferred my company 
to father's — because " she hesitated a moment — " be- 
cause they spoke not of politics, but — of — that whi:h lads 

mainly talk of — and — and," here she broke cown a 

little ; " and the Baron I only saw once, but he" here 

she broke down utterly — " I know they weren't spies — there 



now 



I" 



" I must ask you something more," said Washington, with 
grave kindness ; " whether you give me the information or 
not, you will consider that if what you believe is true, it 
cannot in any way injure the gentlemen you speak of, while, 
on the other hand, it may relieve your father of suspicion. 
Will you give to Colonel Hamilton, my secretary, a full de- 
scription of them ? That fuller description which Captain 
Brewster, for reasons best known to yourself, was unable to 
give." 

Mistress Thankful hesitated for a moment, and then, 
with one of her truthful glances at the Commander-in-Chief, 
began a detailed account of the outward semblance of the 

VOL. V. L 



1 6 2 Thankful Blossom. 

Count. Why she began with him I am unable to say, but 
possibly, it was because it was easier, for when she came to 
describe the Baron, she was, I regret to say, somewhat vague 
and figurative. Not so vague, however, but that Colonel 
Hamilton suddenly started up with a look at his chief, who 
instantly checked it with a gesture of his ruffled hand. 

" I thank you. Mistress Thankful," he said, quite impas- 
sively, " but did this other gentleman, this Baron " 

*' Pomposo," said Thankful proudly. A titter originated 
in the group of ladies by the window, and became visible 
on the fresh face of Colonel Hamilton, but the dignified 
colour of Washington's countenance was unmoved. 

" May I ask if the Baron made an honourable tender of 
his affections to you," he continued, with respectful gravity 
— *' if his attentions were known to your father, and were 
such as honest Mistress Blossom could receive ? " 

" Father introduced him to me, and wanted me to be 
kind to him. He — he kissed me, and I slapped his face," 
said Thankful quickly, with cheeks as red, I warrant, as 
the Baron's might have been. 

The moment the words had escaped her truthful lips 
she would have given her life to recall them. To her 
astonishment, however. Colonel Hamilton laughed out- 
right, and the ladies turned and approached her, but were 
checked by a slight gesture from the otherwise impassive 
figure of the General. 

"It is possible, Mistress Thankful," he resumed, with 
undisturbed composure, " that one, at least, of these gentle- 
men may be known to us, and that your instincts may be 
correct. At least rest assured that we shall fully inquire 
into it, and that your father shall have the benefit of that 
inquiry," 

" I thank your Excellency," said Thankful, still redden- 
ing under the contemplation of her own late frankness, 



Thankful Blossom. 163 

and retreating towards the door, " I — think — I — must — go 
— now. It is late, and I have far to ride." 

To her surprise, however, Washington stepped forward, 
and again taking her hands in his, said with a grave smile, 
" For that very reason, if for none other, you must be our 
guest to-night. Mistress Thankful Blossom. We still retain 
our Virginian ideas of hospitality, and are tyrannous 
enough to make strangers conform to them, even though 
we have but perchance the poorest of entertainment to 
offer them. Lady Washington will not permit Mistress 
Thankful Blossom to leave her roof to-night until she has 
partaken of her courtesy as well as her counsel." 

" Mistress Thankful Blossom will make us believe that 
she has, at least, in so far trusted our desire to serve her 
justly by accepting our poor hospitality for a single night," 
said Lady Washington, with a stately courtesy. 

Thankful Blossom still stood irresolutely at the door. 
But the next moment a pair of youthful arms encircled her, 
and the younger gentlewoman, looking into her brown 
eyes, with an honest frankness equal to her own, said, 
caressingly, " Dear Mistress Thankful, though I am but a 
guest in her ladyship's house, let me, I pray you, add my 
voice to hers. I am Mistress Schuyler of Albany, at your 
service. Mistress Thankful, as Colonel Hamilton here will 
bear me witness, did I need any interpreter to your honest 
heart. Believe me, dear Mistress Thankful, I sympathise 
with you, and only beg you to give me an opportunity to- 
night to serve you. You will stay, I know, and you will 
stay with me, and we shall talk over the faithlessness of 
that over-jealous Yankee Captain who has proved him- 
self, I doubt not, as unworthy of you as he is of his 
country." 

Hateful to Thankful as was the idea of being commiser- 
ated, she nevertheless could not resist the gentle courtesy 



164 Thankful Blossom. 

and gracious sympathy of Miss Schuyler. Besides, it must 
be confessed that for the first time in her Hfe she felt a 
doubt of the power of her own independence, and a 
strange fascination for this young gentlewoman whose arms 
were around her, who could so thoroughly sympathise 
with her, and yet allow herself to be snubbed by Lady 
Washington ! 

" You have a mother, I doubt not ? " said Thankful, 
raising her questioning eyes to Miss Schuyler. 

Irrelevant as this question seemed to the two young 
gentlemen, Miss Schuyler answered it with feminine intui- 
tion. " And you, dear Mistress Thankful " 

" Have none," said Thankful ; and here, I regret to say, 
she whimpered slightly, at which Miss Schuyler, with tears 
in her own fine eyes, bent her head suddenly to Thankful's 
ear, put her arm about the waist of the pretty stranger, and 
then, to the astonishment of Colonel Hamilton, quietly 
swept her out of the august presence. 

When the door had closed upon them. Colonel 
Hamilton turned half-smilingly, half-inquiringly to his 
chief. Washington returned his glance kindly, but gravely, 
and then said quietly — 

" If your suspicions jump with mine. Colonel, I need 
not remind you that it is a matter so delicate that it would 
be as well if you locked it in your own breast for the 
present. At least that you should not intimate to the 
gentleman whom you may have suspected aught that has 
passed this evening." 

" As you will. General," said the subaltern respectfully ; 
"but may I ask," he hesitated, "if you believe that any- 
thing more than a passing fancy for a pretty girl " 

" When I asked your silence, Colonel," interrupted 
Washington kindly, laying his hand upon the shoulders of 
the younger man, "it was because I thought the matter 



Thankful Blossom. 165 

sufficiently momentous to claim my own private and 
especial attention." 

" I ask your Excellency's pardon," said the young man, 
reddening through his fresh complexion like a girl j " I 
only meant " 

" That you would ask to be relieved to-night," inter- 
rupted Washington, with a benign smile, " forasmuch as 
you wished the more to show entertainment to our dear 
friend, Miss Schuyler, and her guest. A wayward girl. 
Colonel, but, methinks, an honest one. Treat her of your 
own quality. Colonel, but discreetly, and not too kindly ; 
lest we have Mistress Schuyler, another injured damsel, on 
our hands," and with a half playful gesture, peculiar to the 
man, and yet not inconsistent with his dignity, he half led, 
half pushed his youthful secretary from the room. 

When the door had closed upon the Colonel, Lady 
Washington rustled toward her husband, who stood still, 
quiet, and passive on the hearth-stone. 

"You surely see in this escapade nothing of political 
intrigue — no treachery ? " she said hastily. 

" No," said Washington quietly. 

" Nothing more than idle, wanton intrigue with a foolish, 
vain country girl ? " 

" Pardon me, my lady," said Washington gravely. " I 
doubt not we may misjudge her. ' Tis no common rustic 
lass that can thus stir the country side. ' Twere an insult 
to your sex to believe it. It is not yet sure that she has not 
captured even so high game as she has named. If she has, it 
would add another interest to a treaty of comity and alliance." 

" That creature ! " said Lady Washington — '' that light o' 
love with her Connecticut Captain lover? Pardon me, but 
this is preposterous," and with a stiff courtesy, she swept 
from the room, leaving the central figure of history — as 
such central figures usually are apt to be left — alone. 



1 66 Thankful Blossom, 

Later in the evening, Mistress Schuyler so far subdued the 
tears and emotions of Thankful that she was enabled to dry 
her eyes and rearrange her brown hair in the quaint little 
mirror in Mistress Schuyler's chamber, Mistress Schuyler 
herself lending a touch and suggestion here and there after 
the secret freemasonry of her sex. " You are well rid of this 
forsworn Captain, dear Mistress Thankful, and methinks 
that with hair as beautiful as yours, the new style of wearing 
it — though a modish frivolity — is most becoming. I assure 
you, 'tis much affected in New York and Philadelphia — 
drawn straight back from the forehead, after this manner, 
as you see." 

The result was that in an hour later Mistress Schuyler and 
Mistress Blossom presented themselves to Colonel Hamilton 
in the reception-room with a certain freshness and elabor- 
ation of toilet that not only quite shamed the young officer's 
affaire negligence, but caused him to open his eyes in as- 
tonishment. " Perhaps she would rather be alone, that she 
might indulge her grief," he said doubtingly, in an aside to 
Miss Schuyler, " rather than appear in company." 

" Nonsense," quoth Mistress Schuyler. " Is a young 
woman to mope and sigh because her lover proves false ? " 

'' But her father is a prisoner," said Hamilton in amaze- 
ment. 

" Can you look me in the face," said Mistress Schuyler 
mischievously, "and tell me that you don't know that in 
twenty- four hours her father will be cleared of these charges ? 
Nonsense ! Do you think I have no eyes in my head ? 
Do you think I misread the General's face and your own ? " 

" But, my dear girl," said the officer in alarm. 

*' Oh, I told her so — but not why^^ responded Miss 
Schuyler, with a wicked look in her dark eyes, " though I 
had warrant enough to do so to serve you for keeping a 
secret from me I " 



Tha nkful Blossom, 167 

And with this Parthian shot she returned to Mistress 
Thankful, who, with her face pressed against the window, 
was looking out on the moonlight slope beside the Whip- 
pany river. 

For by one of those freaks peculiar to the American 
springtide the weather had again marvellously changed. 
The rain had ceased, and the ground was covered with an 
icing of sleet and snow, that now glittered under a clear 
sky and a brilliant moon. The north-east wind that shook 
the loose sashes of the windows had transformed each 
dripping tree and shrub to icy stalactites that silvered under 
the moon's cold touch. 

"'Tis a beautiful sight, ladies," said a bluff, hearty, middle- 
aged man, joining the group by the window ; " but God 
send the spring to us quickly, and spare us any more such 
cruel changes. My lady moon looks fine enough, glittering 
in yonder tree tops, but I doubt not she looks down upon 
many a poor fellow shivering under his tattered blankets in 
the camp beyond. Had ye seen the Connecticut tattarde- 
malions file by last night, with arms reversed, showing their 
teeth at his Excellency and yet not daring to bite — had 
ye watched these fainthearts, these doubting Thomases, 
ripe for rebellion against his Excellency, against the cause, 
but chiefly against the weather, ye would pray for a thaw 
that would melt the hearts of these men as it would these 
stubborn fields around us. Two weeks more of such weather 
would raise up not one Allan Brewster, but a dozen such 
malcontent puppies ripe for a drum-head court-martial." 

"Yet 'tis a fine night. General Sullivan," said Colonel Ham- 
ilton, sharply nudging the ribs of his superior offioer with his 
elbow, " there would be little trouble on such a night, I fancy, 
to track our ghostly visitant." Both of the ladies becoming in- 
terested, and Colonel Hamilton having thus adroitly turned 
the flank of his superior officer, he went on : *' You should 



1 6 8 Thankful Blossom, 

know that the camp, and indeed the whole locality here, is 
said to be haunted by the apparition of a gray-coated figure, 
whose face is muffled and hidden in his collar, but who has 
the password pat to his lips, and whose identity hath baffled 
the sentries. This figure, it is said, forasmuch as it has 
been seen just before an assault, an attack, or some tribu- 
lation of the army, is believed by many to be the genius or 
guardian spirit of the cause, and, as such, has incited sentries 
and guards to greater vigilance, and has to some seemed a 
premonition of disaster. Before the last outbreak of the 
Connecticut Militia, Master Graycoat haunted the outskirts 
of the weather-beaten and bedraggled camp, and, I doubt 
not, saw much of that preparation that sent that regiment 
of faint-hearted onion-gatherers to flaunt their woes and 
their wrongs in the face of the General himself." Here 
Colonel Hamilton, in turn, received a slight nudge 
from Mistress Schuyler, and ended his speech somewhat 
abruptly. 

Mistress Thankful was not unmindful of both these 
allusions to her faithless lover, but only a consciousness of 
mortification and wounded pride was awakened by them. 
In fact, during the first tempest of her indignation at his 
arrest, still later at the arrest of her father, and finally at 
the discovery of his perfidy to her, she had forgotten that 
he was her lover ; she had forgotten her previous tender- 
ness toward him; and now that her fire and indignation 
were spent, only a sense of numbness and vacancy remained. 
AU that had gone before seemed not something to be re- 
gretted as her own act, but rather as the act of another 
Thankful Blossom, who had been lost that night in the 
snow-storm ; she felt she had become within the last twenty- 
four hours not perhaps afiother woman, but for the first 
time a woman. 

Yet it was singular that she felt more confused when a 



Thankful Blossom. 1 69 

few moments later, the conversation turned upon Major 
Van Zandt ; it was still more singular that she even felt 
considerably frightened at that confusion. Finally she 
found herself listening with alternate irritability, shame, and 
curiosity to praises of that gentleman, of his courage, his 
devotion, and his personal graces. For one wild moment 
Thankful felt like throwing herself on the breast of Mistress 
Schuyler and confessing her rudeness to the Major, but a 
conviction that Mistress Schuyler would share that secret 
with Colonel Hamilton, that Major Van Zandt might not 
like that revelation, and oddly enough associated with this, 
a feeling of unconquerable irritability toward that handsome 
and gentle young officer, kept her mouth closed. *' Besides," 
she said to herself, " he ought to know, if he is such a fine 
gentleman as they say, just how I was feeling, and that I 
didn't mean any rudeness to him," and with this unanswer- 
able feminine logic, poor Thankful, to some extent, stilled 
her own honest little heart. 

But 'not, I fear, entirely ; the night was a restless one to 
her ; like all impulsive natures the season of reflection and 
perhaps distrust came to her upon acts that were already 
committed, and when reason seemed to light the way only 
to despair. She saw the folly of her intrusion at the head- 
quarters, as she thought, only when it was too late to 
remedy it j she saw the gracelessness and discourtesy of 
her conduct to Major Van Zandt only when distance and 
time rendered an apology weak and ineffectual. I think 
she cried a little to herself, lying in the strange gloomy 
chamber of the healthfully sleeping Mistress Schuyler, the 
sweet security of whose manifest goodness and kindness 
she alternately hated and envied, and at last, unable to 
stand it longer, slipped noiselessly from her bed and stood 
very wretched and disconsolate before the window that 
looked out upon the slope towards the Whippany river. 



1 70 Thankful Blossom. 

The moon on the new-fallen, frigid, and untrodden snow 
shone brightly. Far to the left it glittered on the bayonet 
of a sentry pacing beside the river bank, and gave a sense 
of security to the girl that perhaps strengthened another 
idea that had grown up in her mind. Since she could not 
sleep why should she not ramble about until she could ? 
She had been accustomed to roam about the farm in all 
weathers and at all times and seasons. She recalled to her- 
self the night — a tempestuous one — when she had risen in 
serious concern as to the lying-in of her favourite Alderney 
heifer, and how she had saved tlie life of the calf, a weak- 
ling, dropped apparently from the clouds in the tempest, as 
it lay beside the barn. With this in her mind she donned 
her dress again, and with Mistress Schuyler's mantle over 
her shoulders noiselessly crept down the narrow staircase, 
passed the sleeping servant on the settee, and opening the 
rear door, in another moment was inhaling the crisp air and 
tripping down the crisp snow of the hill-side. 

But Mistress Thankful had overlooked one difference 
between her own farm and a military encampment. She had 
not proceeded a dozen yards before a figure apparently 
started out of the ground beneath her, and levelling a 
bayonetted musket across her path called, " Halt !" 

The hot blood mounted to the girl's cheek at the first 
imperative command she had ever received in her life ; 
nevertheless she halted unconsciously, and without a word 
confronted the challenger with her old audacity. 

" Who goes there ? " reiterated, the sentry, still keeping 
his bayonet level with her breast. 

''Thankful Blossom," she responded promptly. 

The sentry brought his musket to a " present." " Pass, 
Thankful Blossom, and God send it soon, and the spring 
with it, and good-night," he said, with a strong Milesian 
accent. And before the still amazed girl could comprehend 



Thankful Blossom. 1 7 1 

the meaning of his abrupt challenge, or his equally abrupt 
departure, he had resumed his monotonous pace in the 
moonlight. Indeed, as she stood looking after him, the 
whole episode, the odd unreality of the moonlit landscape, 
the novelty of her position, the morbid play of her thoughts 
seemed to make it part of a dream which the morning light 
might dissipate but could never fully explain. 

With something of this feeling still upon her, she kept 
her way to the river. Its banks were still fringed with ice, 
through which its dark current flowed noiselessly. She 
knew it flowed through the camp where lay her faithless 
lover, and for an instant indulged the thought of following 
it and facing him with the proof of his guilt ; but even at 
the thought she recoiled with a new and sudden doubt in 
herself, and stood dreamily watching the shimmer of the 
moon on the icy banks, until another and it seemed to her 
equally unreal vision suddenly stayed her feet, and drove 
the blood from her feverish cheeks. 

A figure was slowly approaching from the direction of 
the sleeping encampment. Tall, erect, and habited in a 
gray surtout, with a hood partially concealing its face, it 
was the counterfeit presentment of the ghostly visitant she 
had heard described. Thankful scarcely breathed. The 
brave little heart that had not quailed before the sentry's 
levelled musket a moment before, now faltered and stood 
still as the phantom, with a slow and majestic tread, moved 
toward her. She had only time to gain the shelter of a 
tree before the figure, majestically unconscious of her pres- 
ence, passed slowly by. Through all her terror Thankful 
was still true to a certain rustic habit of practical perception 
to observe that the tread of the phantom was quite audible 
over the crust of snow, and was visible and palpable as 
the imprint of a military boot ! 

The blood came back to Thankful's cheek, and with it 



172 Thankftd Blossom. 

her old audacity. In another instant she was out from 
the tree, and tracking with a light feline tread the appari- 
tion that now loomed up the hill before her. Slipping from 
tree to tree, she followed until it paused before the door 
of a low hut or farm-shed that stood midway up the hill. 
Here it entered, and the door closed behind it. With 
every sense feverishly alert, Thankful, from the secure 
advantage of a large maple, watched the door of the hut. 
In a few moments it re-opened to the same figure free of 
its gray enwrappings. Forgetful of everything now but 
detecting the face of the impostor, the fearless girl left the 
tree and placed herself directly in the path of the figure. 
At the same moment it turned toward her inquiringly, and 
the moonlight fell full upon the calm, composed features 
of General Washington. 

In her consternation Thankful could only drop an 
embarrassed courtesy and hang out two lovely signals of 
distress on her cheeks. The face of the pseudo ghost 
alone remained unmoved. 

" You are wandering late, Mistress Thankful," he said, 
at last, with a paternal gravity, " and I fear that the formal 
restraint of a mihtary household has already given you 
some embarrassment. Yonder sentry, for instance, might 
have stopped you." 

*0h, he did !" said Thankful quickly; "but it's all right, 
please your Excellency. He asked me ' who went there,' 
and I told him, and he was vastly polite, I assure you." 

The grave features of the Commander-in-Chief relaxed 
in a smile. " You are more happy than most of your sex 
in turning a verbal compliment to practical account. For 
know then, dear young lady, that in honour of your visit 
to the head-quarters, the pass-word to-night through this 
encampment was none other than your own pretty pat- 
ronymic — ' Thankful Blossom.' " 



Thankful Blossom. 173 

The tears glittered in the girl's eyes, and her lip trembled. 
But with all her readiness of speech, she could only say, 
" Oh, your Excellency." 

" Then you did pass the sentry ? " continued Washing- 
ton, looking at her intently with a certain grave watchful- 
ness in his gray eyes. " And doubtless you wandered at 
the river bank. Although I myself, tempted by the night, 
sometimes extend my walk as far as yonder shed, it were 
a hazardous act for a young lady to pass beyond the 
protection of the line." 

" Oh, I met no one, your Excellency," said the usually 
truthful Thankful hastily, rushing to her first lie with grate- 
ful impetuosity. 

" And saw no one ? " asked Washington quietly. 

" No one," said Thankful, raising her brown eyes to the 
General's. 

They both looked at each other — the naturally most 
veracious young woman in the colonies and the subsequent 
allegorical impersonation of Truth in America — and knew 
each other lied, and, I imagine, respected each other for it. 

" I am glad to hear you say so, Mistress Thankful," said 
Washington quietly, " for 'twould have been natural for 
you to have sought an interview with your recreant lover 
in yonder camp, though the attempt would have been unwise 
and impossible." 

" I had no such thought, your Excellency," said Thank- 
ful, who had really quite forgotten her late intention, " yet 
if \iith your permission I could hold a few moments' converse 
with Captain Brewster, it would greatly ease my mind." 

" ' Twould not be well for the present," said Washington 
thoughtfully. " But in a day or two Captain Brewster will 
be tried by court-martial at Morristown. It shall be so 
ordered that when he is conveyed thither his guard shall 
halt at the Blossom Farm. I will see that the officer in 



174 Thankful Blossom, 

command gives you an opportunity to see him. - And I 
think I can promise also, Mistress Thankful, that your 
father shall also be present under his own roof — a free 
man." 

They had reached the entrance to the mansion and 
entered the hall. Thankful turned impulsively and kissed 
the extended hand of the Commander. " You are so good. 
I have been so foolish — so very, very wrong," she said, 
with a shght trembling of her lip. " And your Excellency 
beheves my story, and those gentlemen were not spies, but 
even as they gave themselves to be." 

" I said not that much," replied Washington, with a 
kindly smile, " but no matter. Tell me rather, Mistress 
Thankful, how far your acquaintance with these gentlemen 
has gone, or did it end with the box on the ear that you 
gave the Baron ? " 

" He had asked me to ride with him to the Baskingridge, 
and I — had said — yes," faltered Mistress Thankful. 

" Unless I misjudge you. Mistress Thankful, you can, 
without such sacrifice, promise me that you will not see 
him until I give you my permission," said Washington, 
with grave playfulness. 

The swinging light shone full in Thankful's truthful eyes 
as she lifted them to his. 

" I do," she said quietly. 

" Good-night," said the Commander, with a formal bow. 

"Good-night, your Excellency." 



Thankful Blossom. 1 7 5 



PART IV. 

The sun was high over the Short Hills when Mistress 
Thankful, the next day, drew up her sweating mare beside 
the Blossom Farm gate. She had never looked prettier, 
she had never felt more embarrassed as she entered her 
own house'. During her rapid ride she had already framed 
a speech of apology to Major Van Zandt, which, however, 
utterly fled from her lips as that officer showed himself 
respectfully on the threshold. Yet she permitted him to 
usurp the functions of^the grinning Caesar, and help her 
from her horse, albeit she was conscious of exhibiting the 
awkward timidity of a bashful rustic, until at last, with a 
stammering " Thank ye," she actually ran upstairs to hide 
her glowing face and far too conscious eyelids. 

During the rest of that day Major Van Zandt quietly 
kept out of her way, without obtrusively seeming to avoid 
her. Yet when they met casually in the performance of 
her household duties, the innocent Mistress Thankful 
noticed, under her downcast, penitential eyelids, that the 
eyes of the officer followed her intently. And thereat she 
fell unconsciously to imitating him, and so they eyed each 
other furtively like cats, and rubbed themselves along the 
walls of rooms and passages when they met, lest they 
should seem designedly to come near "each other, and 
enacted the gravest and most formal of genuflections, 
courtesies, and bows, when they accidentally did meet. 
And just at the close of the second day, as the elegant 
Major Van Zandt was feeling himself fast becoming a 
drivelling idiot and an awkward country booby, the arrival 
of a courier from head-quarters saved that gentleman his 
self-respect for ever. 

Mistress Thankful v/as in her sitting-room when he 



176 Thankful Blossom. 

knocked at the door. She opened it in sudden, conscious 
trepidation. 

"I ask pardon for intruding, Mis.tress Thankful Blossom," 
he said gravely, " but I have here " — he held out a preten- 
tious document — " a letter for you from head- quarters. 
May I hope that it contains good news — the release of 
your father — and that it relieves you from my presence, 
and an espionage which I assure you cannot be more un- 
pleasant to you than it has been to myself." 

As he entered the room, Thankful had risen to her feet 
with the full intention of delivering to him her little set 
apology, but as he ended his speech she looked at him 
blandly — and burst out crying. 

Of course he was in an instant at her side and holding 
her cold little hand. Then she managed to say, between 
her tears, that she had been wanting to make an apology 
to him j that she had wanted to say ever since she arrived 
that she had been rude, very rude, and that she knew he 
never could forgive her; that she had been trying to say 
hat she never could forget his gentle forbearance, " only," 
she added, suddenly raising her tear-fringed brown lids to 
the astonished man, '•'' you wouldrit ever let me I " 

*'Dear Mistress Thankful," said the Major, in conscience- 
stricken horror, "if I have made myself distant to you, 
believe me it was only because I feared to intrude upon 
your sorrow. I really — dear Mistress Thankful — I " 

"When you took all the pains to go round the hall 
instead of through the dining-room lest I should ask you 
to forgive me," sobbed Mistress Thankful, "I thought — 
you — must — hate me, and preferred to "^ 

" Perhaps this letter may mitigate your sorrow. Mistress 
Thankful," said the officer, pointing to the letter she still 
held unconsciously in her hand. 

With a blush at her pre-occupation, Thankful opened 



Thankful Blossom, 177 

the letter. It was a half-official document, and ran as 

follows : — 



"The Commander-in-Chief is glad to inform Mistress 
Thankful Blossom that the charges preferred against her 
father have, upon fair examination, been found groundless 
and trivial. The Commander-in-Chief further begs to 
inform Mistress Blossom that the gentleman known to her 
under the name of the 'Baron Pomposo,' was his Excellency 
Don Juan Morales, Ambassador and Envoy Extraordinary 
of the Court of Spain, and that the gentleman known to 
her as the ' Count Ferdinand,' was Senor Godoy, Secretary 
to the Embassy. The Commander-in-Chief wishes to add, 
that Mistress Thankful Blossom is relieved of any further 
obligation of hospitality toward these honourable gentle- 
men, as the Commander-in-Chief regrets to record the 
sudden and deeply-to-be-deplored death of his Excellency 
this morning by typhoid fever, and the possible speedy 
return of the Embassy. 

" In conclusion, the Commander-in-Chief wishes to bear 
testimony to the Truthfulness, Intuition, and Discretion of 
Mistress Thankful Blossom. 

*' By order of his Excellency, 

'' General George Washington 
"Alex. Hamilton, Secretary. 
**To Mistress Thankful Blossom, of Blossom Farm." 

Thankful Blossom was silent for a few moments, and 
then raised her abashed eyes to Major Van Zandt. A 
single glance satisfied her that he knew nothing of the 
imposture that had been practised upon her — knew noth- 
ing of the trap into which her vanity and self-will had led 
her. 

vol. v. m 



178 Thankful Blossom. 

*'Dear Mistress Thankful," said the Major, seeing the 
distress in her face. " I trust the news is not ill. Surely 
I gathered from the Sergeant that " 

"What?" said Thankful, looking at him intently. 

" That in twenty- fours hours at furthest your father would 
be free, and that I should be relieved " 

"I know that you are aweary of your task, Major," said 
Thankful bitterly; "rejoice, then, to know your informa- 
tion is correct, and that my father is exonerated — unless — 
unless this is a forgery, and General Washington should 
turn out to be somebody else, 2Si^ you should turn out to 
be somebody else" — and she stopped short and hid her 
wet eyes in the window curtains. 

'' Poor girl ! " said Major Van Zandt to himself, " this 
trouble has undoubtedly frenzied her. Fool that I was, 
to lay up the insult of one that sorrow and excitement had 
bereft of reason and responsibiUty. 'Twere better I should 
retire at once and leave her to herself," and the young man 
slowly retreated toward the door. 

But at this moment there were alarming symptoms of 
distress in the window curtain, and the Major paused as a 
voice from its dimity depths said plaintively, " And you are 
going without forgiving me ! " 

"Forgiveji^^z/, Mistress Thankful," said the Major, striding 
to the curtain, and seizing a little hand that was obtruded 
from its folds, "forgive you; rather can you forgive me — 

for the folly — the cruelty of mistaking — of — of" and 

here the Major, hitherto famous for facile compHments, 
utterly broke down. But the hand he held was no longer 
cold, but warm and inteUigent, and in default of coherent 
speech he held fast by that as the thread of his discourse, 
until Mistress Thankful quietly withdrew it, thanked him 
for his forgiveness, and retired deeper behind the curtain. 

When he had gone, she threw herself in a chair and again 



Ihankful Blossom. 1 79 

gave way to a passionate flood of tears. In the last twenty- 
four hours her pride had been utterly humbled ; the inde- 
pendent spirit of this self-willed little beauty had met for 
the first time with defeat. When she had got over her 
womanly shock at the news of the sham Baron's death, she 
had, I fear, only a selfish regret at his taking off — believing 
that if living he would in some way show the world, which 
just then consisted of the head-quarters and Major Van 
Zandt, that he had really made love to her, and possibly 
did honourably love her still, and might yet give her an 
opportunity to reject him. And now he was dead, and she 
was held up to the world as the conceited plaything of a 
fine gentleman's masquerading sport. That her father's 
cupidity and ambition made him sanction the imposture in 
her bitterness she never doubted. No ! Lover, friend, 
father — all had been false to her, and the only kindness she 
had received was from the men she had wantonly insulted. 
Poor little Blossom ! Indeed, a most premature Blossom ; 
I fear a most unthankful Blossom, sitting there, shivering 
in the first chill wind of adversity, rocking backward and 
forward with the skirt of her dimity short gown over her 
shoulders, and her little buckled shoes and clocked stockings 
pathetically crossed before her. 

But healthy youth is reactive, and in an hour or two 
Thankful was down at the cow-shed with her arms around 
the neck of her favourite heifer, to whom she poured out 
much of her woes, and from whom she won an intelligent 
sort of slobbering sympathy. And then she sharply scolded 
Caesar for nothing at all, and a moment after returned to 
the house with the air and face of a deeply-injured angel, 
who had been disappointed in some celestial idea of setting 
this world right, but was still not above forgiveness. A 
spectacle that sunk Major Van Zandt into the dark depths 
of remorse, and eventually sent him to smoke a pipe of 



1 8o Thankful Blossom. 

Virginia with his men in the roadside camp. Seeing which, 
Thankful went early to bed and cried herself to sleep. 
And Nature, possibly, followed her example, for at sunset a 
great thaw set in, and by midnight the freed rivers and 
brooks were gurgling melodiously, and tree, and shrub, and 
fence were moist and dripping. 

The red dawn at last struggled through the vaporous veil 
that hid the landscape. Then occurred one of those magi- 
cal changes peculiar to the climate, yet perhaps pre- 
eminently notable during that historic winter and spring. 
By ten o'clock on that 3rd of May, 1780, a fervent June-like 
sun had rent that vaporous veil, and poured its direct rays 
upon the gaunt and haggard profile of the Jersey hills. 
The chilled soil responded but feebly to that kiss ; perhaps 
a few of the willows that yellowed the river banks took on 
a deeper colour. But the country folk were certain that 
spring had come at last, and even the correct and self- 
sustained Major Van Zandt came running in to announce 
to Mistress Thankful that one of his men had seen a violet 
in the meadow. In another moment Mistress Thankful had 
donned her cloak and pattens to view this firstling of the 
laggard summer. It was quite natural that Major Van 
Zandt should accompany her as she tripped on, and so with- 
out a thought of their past differences, they ran like very 
children down the moist and rocky slope that led to the 
quaggy meadow. Such was the influenc,e of the vernal 
season. 

But the violets were hidden. Mistress Thankful, regard- 
less of the wet leaves and her new gown, groped with her 
fingers among the withered grasses. Major Van Zandt 
leaned against a boulder and watched her with admiring 
eyes. 

" You'll never find flowers that way," she said at last, 
looking up to him impatiently. ^' Go down on your knees 



Thankful Blossom. 1 8 1 

like an honest man. There are some things in this world 
worth stooping for." 

The Major instantly dropped on his knees beside her. 
But at that moment Mistress Thankful found her posies 
and rose to her feet. "Stay where you are," she said mis- 
chievously, as she stooped down and placed a flower in the 
lappel of his coat. "That is to make amends for my rude- 
ness. Now, get up." 

But the Major did not rise. He caught the two little 
hands that had seemed to flutter like birds against his breast, 
and, looking up into the laughing face above him, said, 
" Dear Mistress Thankful ; dare I remind you of your own 
words that ' there be some things worth stooping for.' 
Think of my love, Mistress Thankful, as a flower — mayhap, 
not as gracious to you as your violets, but as honest and — 
and — and — as " 

" Ready to spring up in a single night," laughed Thank- 
ful. "But, no; get up. Major! What would the fine 
ladies of Morristown say of your kneeling at the feet of a 
country girl, the play and sport of every fine gentleman ? 
What if Mistress Bolton should see her own cavalier, the 
modish Major Van Zandt, proffering his affections to the 
disgraced sweetheart of a perjured traitor? Leave go my 
hand, I pray you. Major — if you respect" 

She was free, yet she faltered a moment beside him, with 
tears quivering on her long brown lashes. Then she said, 
tremulously, "Rise up. Major. Let us think no more of 
this. I pray you forgive me, if I have again been rude." 

The Major struggled to rise to his feet. But he could 
not. And then I regret to have to record that the fact 
became obvious that one of his shapely legs was in a bog- 
hole, and that he was perceptibly sinking out of sight. 
Whereat Mistress Thankful trilled out a three-syllabled 
laugh, looked demure and painfully concerned at his con- 



1 82 Thankful Blossom. 

dition, and then laughed agam. The Major joined in her 
mirth, albeit his face was crimson. And then, with a little cry 
of alarm, she flew to his side, and put her arms around him. 

" Keep away, keep away, for heaven's sake, Mistress 
Blossom," he said quickly, "or I shall plunge you into 
my mishap, and make you as ridiculous as myself." 

But the quick-witted girl had already leaped to an 
adjacent boulder. " Take off your sash," she said quickly, 
" fasten it to your belt, and throw it to me." He did so. 
She straightened herself back on the rock. "Now, alto- 
gether," she cried, with a preliminary strain on the sash, 
and then the cords of her well-trained muscles stood out 
on her rounded arms, and with a long pull, and a strong 
pull, and a pull all together, she landed the Major upon the 
rock. And then she laughed. And then, inconsistent as 
it may appear, she became grave, and at once proceeded to 
scrape him off, and rub him down with dried leaves, with 
fern twigs, with her handkerchief, with the border of her 
mantle, as if he were a child, until he blushed with alter- 
nate shame and secret satisfaction. 

They spoke but little on their return to the farmhouse, 
for Mistress Thankful had again become grave. And yet 
the sun shone cheerily above them ; the landscape was filled 
with the joy of resurrection and new and awakened life; 
the breeze whispered gentle promises of hope and the frui- 
tion of their hopes in the summer to come. And these two 
fared on until they reached the porch with a half-pleased, 
half-frightened consciousness that they were not the same 
beings who had left it a half hour before. 

Nevertheless, at the porch Mistress Thankful regained 
something of her old audacity. As they stood together in 
the hall, she handed him back the sash she had kept with 
her. As she did so she could not help saying, " There are 
some things worth stooping for, Major Van Zandt." 



Thankf id Blossom. 183 

But she had not calculated upon the audacity of the man, 
and as she turned to fly she was caught by his strong arm 
and pinioned to his side. She struggled, honestly, I think, 
and perhaps more frightened at her own feelings than at 
his strength, but it is to be recorded that he kissed her in 
a moment of comparative yielding, and then, frightened 
himself, released her quickly, whereat she fled to her room, 
and threw herself, panting and troubled, upon her bed. 
For an hour or two she lay there, with flushed cheeks and 
conflicting thoughts. " He must never kiss me again," she 

said, softly to herself, "unless " but the interrupting 

thought said, "I shall die if he kiss me not again; and I 
never can kiss another." And then she was roused by a 
footstep upon the stair — which, in that brief time, she had 
learned to know and look for — and a knock at the door. 
She opened it to Major Van Zandt, white and so colourless 
as to bring out once more the faint red line made by her 
riding whip two days before, as if it had risen again in accu- 
sation. The blood dropped out of her cheeks as she gazed 
at him in silence. 

"An escort of dragoons," said Major Van Zandt, slowly, 
and with military precision, "has just arrived, bringing with 
them one Captain Allan Brewster, of the Connecticut Con- 
tingent, on his way to Morristown to be tried for mutiny 
and treason. A private note from Colonel Hamilton 
instructs me to allow him to have a private audience with 
you — \i you so wish it.^' 

With a woman's swift and too often hopeless intuition, 
Thankful knew that this was not the sole contents of the 
letter, and that her relations with Captain Brewster were 
known to the man before her. But she drew herself up a 
little proudly, and turning her truthful eyes upon the Major, 
said, "I do so wish it." 

"It shall be done as you desire. Mistress Blossom," re- 



184 Thankful Blossom, 

turned the officer, with cold poHteness, as he turned upon 
his heel. 

"One moment, Major Van Zandt," said Thankful swiftly. 

The Major turned quickly. But Thankful's eyes were 
gazing thoughtfully forward, and scarcely glanced at him. 
" I would prefer," she said timidly and hesitatingly, " that 
this interview should not take place under the roof where — 
where — where my father lives. Half way down the meadow 
there is a barn, and before it a broken part of the wall, 
fronting on a sycamore tree. He will know where it is. 
Tell him I will see him there in half an hour." 

A smile, which the Major had tried to make a careless 
one, curled his lip satirically as he bowed in reply. " It 
is the first time," he said drily, " that I believe I have been 
honoured with arranging a tryst for two lovers, but believe 
me, Mistress Thankful, I will do my best. In half an hour 
I will turn my prisoner over to you." 

In half an hour the punctual Mistress Thankful, with a 
hood hiding her pale face, passed the officer in the hall on 
the way to her rendezvous. An hour later, Caesar came 
with a message that Mistress Thankful would like to see 
him. When the Major entered the sitting-room he was 
shocked to find her lying pale and motionless on the sofa, 
but as the door closed she rose to her feet and confronted 
him. 

"I do not know," she said slowly, "whether you are 
aware that the man I just now parted from was, for a 
twelvemonth past, my sweetheart, and that I believed I 
loved him, and knew I was true to him. If you have not 
heard it I tell you now, for the time will come when you 
will hear part of it from the Hps of others, and I would 
rather you should take the whole truth from mine. This 
man was false to me. He betrayed two friends of mine as 
spies. ' I could have forgiven it had it been only foolish 



Thankful Blossom. 185 

jealousy, but it was, I have since learned from his own lips, 
only that he might gratify his spite against the Commander- 
in-Chief by procuring their arrest and m.aking a serious diffi- 
culty in the American camp, by means of which he hoped 
to serve his own ends. He told me this, believing that I 
sympathised with him in his hatred of the Commander-in- 
Chief, and in his own wrongs and sufferings. I confess, to 
my shame, Major Van Zandt, that two days ago I did 
believe him, and that I looked upon you as a mere catch- 
poll or bailiff of the tyrant. That I found out how I was 
deceived when I saw the Commander-in-Chief, you. Major, 
who know him so well, need not be told. Nor was it 
necessary for me to tell this man that he had deceived me 
— for I felt — that — that — was — not — the — only reason — 
why I could no longer return — his love." 

She paused, as the Major approached her earnestly, and 
waved him back with her hand. " He reproached me 
bitterly with my want of feeling for his misfortunes," she 
went on again ; " he recalled my past protestations ! he 
showed me my love letters — and he told me that if I were 
still his true sweetheart I ought to help him. I told him 
if he would never call me by that name again ; if he would 
give up all claim to me ; if he would never speak, write to 
me, or see me again ; if he would hand me back my letters, 
I would help him." She stopped — the blood rushed into 
her pale face. *' You will remember. Major, that I accepted 
this man's love as a young, foolish, trustful girl; but when 
I made him this offer — he — he — accepted it." 

" The dog ! " said Major Van Zandt. " But in what 
way could you help this double traitor?" 

" I have helped him," said Thankful quietly. 

"But how?" said Major Van Zandt. 

" By becoming a traitor myself," she said, turning upon 
him almost fiercely. " Hear me ! While you were quietly 



1 86 Thankful Blossom. 

pacing these halls, while your men were laughing and 
talking in the road, Caesar was saddling my white mare, 
the fleetest in the country. He led her to the lane below. 
That mare is now two miles away, with Captain Brewster 
on her back. Why do you not start, Major? Look at 
me. / am a traitor, and this is my bribe," and she drew a 
package of letters from her bosom, and flung them on the 
table. 

She had been prepared for an outbreak or exclamation 
from the man before her, but not for his cold silence. 
" Speak," she cried, at last, passionately, " speak. Open 
your lips if only to curse me ! Order in your men to arrest 
me. I will proclaim myself guilty, and save your honour. 
But only speak ! " 

*' May I ask," said Major Van Zandt coldly, " why you 
have twice honoured me with a blow ? " 

"Because I loved you ! Because when I first saw you 
I saw the only man that was my master, and I rebelled. 
Because when I found I could not help but love you, I 
knew I never had loved before, and I would wipe out with 
one stroke all the past that rose in judgment against me. 
Because I would not have you ever confronted with one 
endearing word of mine that was not meant for you ?" 

Major Van Zandt turned from the window where he had 
stood, and faced the girl with sad resignation. " If I have, 
in my foolishness. Mistress Thankful, shown you how 
great was your power over me, when you descended to this 
artifice to spare my feelings by confessing your own love 
for me, you should have remembered that you were doing 
that which for ever kept me from wooing or winning you. 
If you had really loved me, your heart, as a woman's, 
would have warned you against that which my heart, as a 
gentleman's, has made a law of honour. When I tell you, 
as much for the sake of relieving your own conscience as 



Thankful Blossom, 1 8 7 

for the sake of justifying mine, that if this man, a traitor, 
my prisoner, and your recognised lover, had escaped from 
my custody without your assistance, connivance or even 
knowledge, I should have deemed it my duty to forsake 
you until I caught him, even if we had been standing 
before the altar." 

Thankful heard him, but only as a strange voice in the 
distance, as she stood with fixed eyes and breathless, 
parted lips before him. Yet even then I fear that, woman- 
like, she did not comprehend his rhetoric of honour, but 
only caught here and there a dull, benumbing idea that he 
despised her, and that in her effort to win his love she had 
killed it, and ruined him for ever. 

"If you think it strange," continued the Major, "that, 
believing as I do, I stand here only to utter moral axioms 
when my duty calls me to pursue your lover, I beg you to 
believe that it is only for your sake. I wish to allow a 
reasonable time between your interview with him and his 
escape, that shall save you from any suspicion of compli- 
city. Do not think," he added, with a sad smile, as the 
girl made an impatient step towards him, " do not think I 
am running any risk. The man cannot escape. A cordon 
of pickets surrounds the camp for many miles. He has 
not the countersign, and his face and crime are known." 

" Yes," said Thankful eagerly, " but a part of his own 
regiment guards the Baskingridge road." 

*' How know you this?" said the Major, seizing her 
hand. 

*' He told me." 

Before she could fall on her knees and beg his forgive- 
ness, he had darted from the room, given an order, and 
returned with cheeks and eyes blazing. 

" Hear me," he said rapidly, taking the girl's two hands, 
"you know not what you've done. I forgive you. But 



1 88 Thankful Blossom. 

this is no longer a matter of duty, but of my personal 
honour. I shall pursue this man alone. I shall return 
with him, or not at all. Farewell ; God bless you ! " 

But before he reached the door she caught him again. 
" Only say you have forgiven me once more." 

" I do.'' 

'' Guert ! " 

There was something in the girl's voice more than this 
first utterance of his Christian name that made him 
pause. 

"I told — a — lie — ^just — now. There is a fleeter horse in 
the stable than my mare j 'tis the roan filly in the second 
stall." 

" God bless you." 

He was gone. She waited to hear the clatter of his 
horse's hoofs in the roadway. When Csesar came in a few 
moments later to tell the news of Captain Brewster's escape, 
the room was empty. But it was soon filled again by a 
dozen turbulent troopers. 

" Of course she's gone," said Sergeant Tibbitts ; " the 
jade flew with the Captain." 

" Ay, 'tis plain enough. Two horses are gone from the 
stable besides the Major's," said Private Hicks. 

Nor was this military criticism entirely a private one. 
When the courier arrived at head-quarters the next morn- 
ing, it was to bring the report that Mistress Thankful 
Blossom, after assisting her lover to escape, had fled with 
him. " The renegade is well off our hands," said General 
Sullivan gruffly. " He has saved us the public disgrace of 
a trial, but this is bad news of Major Van Zandt." 

"What news of the Major?" asked Washington quickly. 

"He pursued the vagabond as far as Springfield, killing 
his horse, and faUing himself insensible before Major 
Merton's quarters. Here he became speedily delirious, 



Thankful Blossom. 189 

fever supervened, and the regimental surgeon, after a care- 
ful examination, pronounced his case one of small-pox." 

A whisper of horror and pity went round the room. " An- 
other gallant soldier who should have died leading a charge, 
laid by the heels by a beggar's filthy distemper," growled 
SuUivan ; " where will it end ? " 

" God knows," said Hamilton. " Poor Van Zandt. But 
whither was he sent ; to the hospital ? " 

" No. A special permit was granted in his case, and 'tis 
said he was removed to the Blossom Farm — it being remote 
from neighbours, and the house was placed under quaran- 
tine. Abner Blossom has prudently absented himself from 
the chances of infection, and the daughter has fled. The 
sick man is attended only by a black servant and an ancient 
crone, so that if the poor Major escapes with his life or 
without disfigurement, pretty Mistress Bolton of Morristown 
need not be scandalised or jealous." 



PART V. 

The ancient crone alluded to in the last chapter had been 
standing behind the window-curtains of that bedroom 
which had been Thankful Blossom's in the weeks gone by. 
She did not move her head, but stood looking demurely, 
after the manner of ancient crones, over the summer land- 
scape. For the summer had come before the tardy spring 
was scarce gone, and the elms before the window no longer 
lisped, but were eloquent in the softest zephyrs. There 
was the flash of birds in among the bushes, the occasional 
droning of bees in and out the open window, and a per- 
petually swinging censer of flower incense rising from 
below. The farm had put on its gayest bridal raiment, 
and, looking at the old farmhouse shadowed with foliage, 
and green with creeping vines, it was difficult to conceive 



1 90 Thankful Blossom, 

that snow had ever lain on its porches or icicles swung 
from its mossy eaves. 

" Thankful ! " said a voice still tremulous with weakness. 

The ancient crone turned, drew aside the curtains, and 
showed the sweet face of Thankful Blossom, more beautiful 
even in its paleness. 

*' Come here, darling," repeated the voice. 

Thankful stepped to the sofa whereon lay the convales- 
cent Major Van Zandt. 

"Tell me, sweetheart," said the Major, taking her hand 
in his, "when you married me, as 3'ou told the chaplain, 
that you might have the right to nurse me, did you never 
think that if death had spared me, I might have been so 
disfigured that even you, dear love, would have turned 
from me with loathing ? " 

" That was why I did it, dear," said Thankful mischiev- 
ously. " I know that the pride, and the sense of honour, 
and self-devotion of some people would have kept them 
from keeping their promises to a poor girl." 

'*But, darling," continued the Major, raising her hand 
to his lips, " suppose the case had been reversed ; suppose 
you had taken the disease ; that I had recovered without 
disfigurement, but that this sweet face " 

" I thought of that too," interrupted Thankful. 

"Well, what would you have done, dear," said the Major, 
with his old mischievous smile. 

" I should have died," said Thankful gravely. 

"But how?" 

"Somehow. But you are to go to sleep, and not ask 
impertinent and frivolous questions, for father is coming 
to-morrow." 

" Thankful, dear, do you know what the trees and the 
birds said to me as I lay there tossing with the fever ? " 

"No, dear." 



Thankful Blossom. 191 

" Thankful Blossom ! Thankful Blossom ! Thankful 
Blossom is coming !" 

"Do you know what I said, sweetheart, as I lifted your 
dear head from the ground when you reeled from your horse 
just as I overtook you at Springfield ? " 

" No, dear." 

*' There are some things in life worth stooping for." 

And she winged this Parthian arrow home with a kiss. 

They lived to a good old age, but she survived him. My 
mother met her in 1833, when she remembered much more 
of her interview with General Washington than I have 
dared to transcribe here. At that time the Spanish 
Ambassador had presented her with a trousseau of incal- 
culable richness. The marriage was to have taken place 
at the head-quarters, but his Excellency died on that very 
day. At other times she even hinted at a secret marriage. 
But it was observable that Major Van Zandt receded into 
the background with advancing years, and for that reason 
I have given him a prominent place in these pages. The 
worthy Allan Brewster reached Hartford, Connecticut, in 
safety, and after the peace, was elected a member of Con- 
gress from that district, where his troubles with the Com- 
mander-in-Chief were deemed by a patriotic community as 
simply an honest, though somewhat premature opposition 
to Federalism. 



Cfte Ctoins of Cable ^ountaim 

PART I. 

A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN. 

They lived on the verge of a vast stony level, upheaved 
so far above the surrounding country that its vague outlines, 
viewed from the nearest valley, seemed a mere cloud-streak 
resting upon the lesser hills. The rush and roar of the 
turbulent river that washed its eastern base were lost at 
that height; the winds that strove with the giant pines 
that half-way climbed its flanks spent their fury below the 
summit. For, at variance with most meteorological specu- 
lation, an eternal calm seemed to invest this serene altitude. 
The few Alpine flowers seldom thrilled their petals to a 
passing breeze ; rain and snow fell alike perpendicularly, 
heavily, and monotonously over the granite boulders scat- 
tered along its brown expanse. Although by actual 
measurement an inconsiderable elevation of the Sierran 
range, and a mere shoulder of the nearest white-faced peak 
that glimmered in the west, it seemed to lie so near the 
quiet, passionless stars that at night it caught something 
of their calm remoteness. The articulate utterance of such 
a locality should have been a whisper ; a laugh or exclama- 
tion was discordant, and the ordinary tones of the human 
voice on the night of the 15th of May 1868, had a gro- 
tesque incongruity. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 193 

In the thick darkness that clothed the mountain that 
night, the human figure would have been lost or confounded 
with the outlines of outlying boulders, which at such times 
took upon themselves the vague semblance of men and 
animals. Hence the voices in the following colloquy 
seemed the more grotesque and incongruous from being 
the apparent expression of an upright monolith, ten feet 
high, on the right, and another mass of granite that, reclin- 
ing, peeped over the verge. 

" Hello ! " 

"Hello yourself!" 

"You're late." 

" I lost the trail, and climbed up the slide." 

Here followed a stumble, the clatter of stones down the 
mountain side, and an oath, so very human and undignified 
that it at once relieved the boulders of any complicity of 
expression. The voices, too, were close together now, and 
unexpectedly in quite another locality. 

" Anything up ? " 

" Looey Napoleon's declared war agin Germany ! " 

"Sho-0-0!" 

Notwithstanding this exclamation, the interest of the 
latter speaker was evidently only polite and perfunctory. 
What, indeed, were the political convulsions of the Old 
World to the dwellers in this serene, isolated eminence of 
the New? 

" I reckon it's so," continued the first voice ; " French 
Pete and that thar feller that keeps the Dutch grocery hev 
hed a row over it. Emptied their six-shooters into each 
other. The Dutchman's got two balls in his leg, and the 
Frenchman's got an onnessary button-hole in his shirt 
buzzum, and hez caved in." 

This concise, local corroboration of the conflict of remote 
nations, however confirmatory, did not appear to excite 

VOL. V. N 



194 ^^^ Twins of Table Momitain, 

any further interest. Even the last speaker, now that he 
was in this calm, dispassionate atmosphere, seemed to lose 
his own concern in his tidings, and to have abandoned 
everything of a sensational and lower-worldly character in 
the pines below. There was a few moments of absolute 
silence, and then another stumble. But now the voices of 
both speakers were quite patient and philosophical. 

" Hold on, and I'll strike a light," said the second 
speaker. " I brought a lantern along, but I didn't light 
up. I kem out afore sundown, and you know how it allers 
is up yer. /didn't want it, and didn't keer to light up. 
I forgot you're always a little dazed and strange-like when 
you first come up." 

There was a crackle, a flash, and presently a steady glow 
which the surrounding darkness seemed to resent. The 
faces of the two men thus revealed were singularly alike. 
The same thin, narrow outhne of jaw and temple; the 
same dark, grave eyes ; the same brown growth of curly 
beard and moustache, which concealed the mouth, and 
hid what might have been any individual idiosyncrasy of 
thought or expression, showed them to be brothers, or 
better known as the " Twins of Table Mountain." A 
certain animation in the face of the second speaker — the 
first comer — a certain light in his eye, might have at first 
distinguished him ; but even this faded out in the steady 
glow of the lantern, and had no value as a permanent 
distinction, for by the time they had reached the western 
verge of the mountain, the two faces had settled into a 
homogeneous calmness and melancholy. The vague hori- 
zon of darkness that, a few feet from the lantern, still 
encompassed them, gave no indication of their progress 
until their feet actually trod the rude planks and thatch 
that formed the roof of their habitation. For their cabin 
half burrowed in the mountain, and half clung, like a 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 195 

swallow's nest, to the side of the deep declivity that 
terminated the northern limit of the summit. Had it not 
been for the windlass of a shaft, a coil of rope, and a few 
heaps of stone and gravel, which were the only indications 
of human labour in that stony field, there was nothing to 
interrupt its monotonous dead level. And when they 
descended a dozen well-worn steps to the door of their 
cabin, they left the summit as before, lonely, silent, motion- 
less, uninterrupted, basking in the cold light of the stars. 

The simile of a " nest," as applied to the cabin of the 
brothers, was no mere figure of speech, as the light of the 
lantern first flashed upon it. The narrow ledge before the 
door was strewn with feathers. A suggestion that it might 
be the home and haunt of predatory birds was promptly 
checked by the spectacle of the nailed-up carcases of a 
dozen hawks against the walls, and the outspread wings of 
an extended eagle emblazoning the gable above the door, 
like an armorial bearing. Within the cabin the walls and 
chimney-piece were dazzingly bedecked with the parti- 
coloured wings of jays, yellow-birds, woodpeckers, king- 
fishers, and the poly-tinted wood-duck. Yet in that dry, 
highly rarefied atmosphere there was not the slightest 
suggestion of odour or decay. 

The first speaker hung the lantern upon a hook that 
dangled from the rafters, and going to the broad chimney, 
kicked the half-dead embers into a sudden resentful blaze. 
He then opened a rude cupboard, and without looking 
around, called ''Ruth!" 

The second speaker turned his head from the open door- 
way where he was leaning, as if listening to something in the 
darkness, and answered abstractedly — 

" Rand ! " 

" I don't believe you have touched grub to-day 1 " 

Ruth grunted out some indifferent reply. 



196 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

"Thar hezent been a slice cut off that bacon since I 
left," continued Rand, bringing a side of bacon and some 
biscuits from the cupboard and applying himself to the 
discussion of them at the table. "You're gettin' off yer 
feed, Ruth. What's up ? " 

Ruth replied by taking an uninvited seat beside him, and 
resting his chin on the palms of his hands. He did not 
eat, but simply transferred his inattention from the door to 
the table. 

*' You're workin' too many hours in the shaft," continued 
Rand. " You're always up to some such d — n fool business 
when I'm not yer." 

" I dipped a little west to-day," Ruth went on, without 
heeding the brotherly remonstrance, " and struck quartz and 
pyrites." 

" Thet's you ! — allers dippin' west or east for quartz and 
the colour, instead of keeping on plumb down to the 
* cement ! ' " * 

" We've been three years digging for cement," said Ruth, 
more in abstraction than reproach ; " three years ! " 

" And we may be three years more — may be only three 
days. Why, you couldn't be more impatient if — if — if you 
lived in a valley." 

Delivering this tremendous comparison as an unanswer- 
able climax, Rand applied himself once more to his repast 
Ruth, after a moment's pause, without speaking or looking 
up, disengaged his hand from under his chin and slid it 
along, palm uppermost, on the table beside his brother. 
Thereupon Rand slowly reached forward his left hand, the 
right being engaged in conveying victual to his mouth, and 
laid it on his brother's palm. The act was evidently an 
habitual, half-mechanical one, for in a few moments the 

* The local name for gold-bearing alluvial drift — the bed of a pre- 
historic river. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 197 

hands were as gently disengaged, without comment or 
expression. At last Rand leaned back in his chair, laid 
down his knife and fork, and compla'cently loosening the 
belt that held his revolver, threw it and the weapon on his 
bed. Taking out his pipe, and chipping some tobacco on 
the table, he said carelessly, " I came a piece through the 
woods with Mornie just now." The face that Ruth turned 
upon his brother was very distinct in expression at that 
moment, and quite belied the popular theory that the 
twins could not be told apart. "Thet gal," continued 
Rand, without looking up, "is either flighty, or — or 
suthinV' he added, in vague disgust, pushing the table from 
him as if it were the lady in question. " Don't tell me ! " 

Ruth's eyes quickly sought his brother's, and were as 
quickly averted, as he asked hurriedly, " How ? " 

" What gets me," continued Rand in a petulant non 
sequitur, " is that yo?/, my own twin brother, never lets on 
about her comin' yer, permiskus like, when I ain't yer, and 
you and her gallivantin' and promanadin', and swoppin' 
sentiments and mottoes." 

Ruth tried to contradict his blushing face with a laugh 
of worldly indifference. 

" She came up yer on a sort oi pasear " 

" Oh yes ! — a short cut to the creek,'' interpolated Rand 
satirically. 

"Last Tuesday or Wednesday," continued Ruth, with 
affected forgetfulness. 

" Oh, in course, Tuesday or Wednesday, or Thursday ! 
You've so many folks climbing up this yer mountain to call 
on ye," continued the ironical Rand, " that you disre- 
member ; only you remembered enough not to tell me. 
She did ! She took me for you, or pretended to." 

The colour dropped from Ruth's cheek. 

" Took you for me ? " he asked, with an awkward laugh. 



198 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

" Yes," sneered Rand ; " chirped and chattered away 
about our picnic, our nosegays, and lord knows what ! 
Said she'd keep them blue jay's wings, and wear 'em in her 
hat. Spouted poetry, too ; the same sort o' rot you get off 
now and then." 

Ruth laughed again, but rather ostentatiously and ner- 
vously. 

" Ruth, look yer ! " 

Ruth faced his brother. 

"What's your Uttle game? Do you mean to say you 
don't know what thet gal is? Do you mean to say you 
don't know that she's the laughing-stock of the Ferry ; thet 
her father's a d — d old fool, and her mother's a drunkard, 
and worse — thet she's got any right to be hanging round 
yer ? You can't mean to marry her, even if you kalkilate 
to turn me out to do it, for she wouldn't live alone with ye 
up here. 'Tain't her kind. And if I thought you was think- 
ing of"- — 

" What ? " said Ruth, turning upon his brother quickly. 

*' Oh, thet's right ! Holler ! Swear and yell, and break 
things, do ! Tear round," continued Rand, kicking his 
boots off in a corner, "just because I ask you a civil 
question. That's brotherly," he added, jerking his chair 
away against the side of the cabin, " ain't it ? " 

" She's not to blame because her mother drinks, and her 
father's a shyster," said Ruth, earnestly and strongly. 
" The men who make her the laughing-stock of the Ferry 
tried to make her something worse, and failed, and take 
this sneak's revenge on her. ' Laughing-stock ! ' Yes, they 
knew she could turn the tables on them." 

" Of course ; go on ! She's better than me ; I know I'm 
a fratricide, that's what I am," said Rand, throwing himself 
on the upper of the two berths that formed the bedstead of 
the cabin. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 1 99 

" I've seen her three times," continued Ruth. 

" And you've known me twenty years," interrupted his 
brother. 

Ruth turned on his heel, and walked towards the door. 

"That's right ; go on ! Why don't you get the chalk ? " 

Ruth made no reply. Rand descended from the bed, 
and taking a piece of chalk from the shelf, drew a line on 
the floor, dividing the cabin in two equal parts. 

''You can have the east half," he said, as he climbed 
slowly back into bed. 

This mysterious rite was the usual termination of a quarrel 
between the twins. Each man kept his half of the cabin 
until the feud was forgotten. It was the mark of silence 
and separation, over which no words of recrimination, 
argument, or even explanation were delivered until it was 
effaced by one or the other. This was considered equiva- 
lent to apology or reconciliation, which each were equally 
bound in honour to accept. 

It may be remarked that the floor was much whiter at 
this Hne of demarcation, and under the fresh chalk line 
appeared the faint evidences of one recently effaced. 

Without apparently heeding this potential ceremony, 
Ruth remained leaning against the doorway, looking upon 
the night, the bulk of whose profundity and blackness 
seemed to be gathered below him. The vault above was 
serene and tranquil, with a few large far-spread stars ; the 
abyss beneath, untroubled by sight or sound. Stepping 
out upon the ledge, he leaned far over the shelf that sus- 
tained their cabin, and listened. A faint rhythmical roll, 
rising and falling in long undulations against the invisible 
horizon, to his accustomed ears told him the wind was 
blowing among the pines in the valley. Yet, mingling with 
this famiUar sound, his ear, now morbidly acute, seemed to 
detect a stranger inarticulate murmur, as of confused and 



200 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

excited voices, swelling up from the mysterious depths to 
the stars above, and again swallowed up in the gulfs of 
silence below. He was roused from a consideration of this 
phenomena by a faint glow towards the east, which at last 
brightened, until the dark outline of the distant walls of 
the valley stood out against the sky. Were his other 
senses participating in the delusion of his ears ? For with 
the brightening light came the faint odour of burning 
timber. 

His face grew anxious as he gazed. At last he rose and 
re-entered the cabin. His eyes fell upon the faint chalk 
mark, and taking his soft felt hat from his head, with a few 
practical sweeps of the brim, he brushed away the ominous 
record of their late estrangement. Going to the bed, 
whereon Rand lay stretched, open-eyed, he would have 
laid his hand upon his arm lightly, but the brother's fingers 
sought and clasped his own. " Get up," he said quietly ; 
" there's a strange fire in the Canon head that I can't make 
out." 

Rand slowly clambered from his shelf, and, hand in 
hand, the brothers stood upon the ledge. "It's a right 
smart chance beyond the Ferry, and a piece beyond the 
Mill too," said Rand, shading his eyes with his hand from 

force of habit. " It's in the woods where " He would 

have added where he met Mornie, but it was a point of 
honour with the twins, after reconciliation, not to allude to 
any topic of their recent disagreement. 

Ruth dropped his brother's hand. "It doesn't smell 
like the woods," he said slowly. 

"Smell!" repeated Rand incredulously. "Why, it's 
twenty miles in a bee-line yonder. Smell, indeed !" 

Ruth was silent, but presently fell to listening again with 
his former abstraction. "You don't hear anything — do 
you ? " he asked, after a pause. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 201 

"It's blowin' in the pines on the river," said Rand 
shortly. 

" You don't hear anything else ? " 

"No." 

"Nothing like— like — like" 

Rand, who had been listening with an intensity that dis- 
torted the left side of his face, interrupted him impatiently. 

"Like what?" 

"Like a woman sobbin'?" 

" Ruth," said Rand, suddenly looking up in his brother's 
face, "what's gone of you?" 

Ruth laughed. "The fire's out," he said, abruptly re- 
entering the cabin. " I'm goin' to turn in." 

Rand, following his brother half reproachfully, saw him^ 
divest himself of his clothing and roll himself in the blankets 
of his bed. 

"Good-night, Randy." 

Rand hesitated. He would have liked to ask his brother 
another question ; but there was clearly nothing to be done 
but follow his example. 

" Good-night, Ruthy," he said, and put out the light. As 
he did so the glow in the eastern horizon faded too, and 
darkness seemed to well up from the depths below, and, 
flowing in the open door, wrapped them in deeper slumber. 



PART II. 

THE CLOUDS GATHER. 

Twelve months had elapsed since the quarrel and recon- 
ciliation, during which interval no reference was made by 
either of the brothers to the cause which had provoked it. 
Rand was at work in the shaft, Ruth having that morning 
undertaken the replenishment of the larder with game from 



202 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

• 
the wooded skirt of the mountain. Rand had taken 

advantage of his brother's absence to "prospect" in the 
** drift " — a proceeding utterly at variance with his previous 
condemnation of all such speculative essay; but Rand, 
despite his assumption of a superior practical nature, was 
not above certain local superstitions. Having that morning 
put on his grey flannel shirt wrong side out, an abstraction 
recognised among the miners as the sure forerunner of 
divination and treasure discovery, he could not forego that 
opportunity of trying his luck without hazarding a dangerous 
example. He was also conscious of feeling "chipper," 
another local expression for buoyancy of spirit, not common 
to men who work fifty feet below the surface, without the 
stimulus of air and sunshine, and not to be overlooked as 
an important factor in fortunate adventure. Nevertheless, 
noon came without the discovery of any treasure ; he had 
attacked the walls on either side of the lateral " drift," skil- 
fully, so as to expose their quality, without destroying their 
cohesive integrity, but had found nothing. Once or twice, 
returning to the shaft for rest and air, its grim silence had 
seemed to him pervaded with some vague echo of cheerful 
holiday voices above. This set him to thinking of his 
brother's equally extravagant fancy of the wailing voices 
in the air on the night of the fire, and of his attributing it 
to a lover's abstraction. 

"I laid it to his being struck after that gal, and yet," 
Rand continued to himself, " here's me, who haven't been 
foolin' round no gal, and dog my skin if I didn't think I 
heard one singin' up thar ! '^- He put his foot on the lower 
round of the ladder, paused, and slowly ascended a dozen 
steps. Here he paused again. All at once the whole shaft 
was filled with the musical vibrations of a woman's song. 
Seizing the rope that hung idly from the windlass, he half 
climbed, half swung himself to the surface. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 203 

The voice was there, but the sudden transition to the 
dazzling level before him at first blinded his eyes ; so that 
he took in, only by degrees, the unwonted spectacle of the 
singer — a pretty girl standing on tiptoe on a boulder, not a 
dozen yards from him, utterly absorbed in tying a gaily 
striped neckerchief, evidently taken from her own plump 
throat, to the halliards of a freshly cut hickory pole, newly 
reared as a flag-staff beside her. The hickory pole, the 
halliards, the fluttering scarf, the young lady herself, were 
all glaring innovations on the familiar landscape ; but Rand, 
with his hand still on the rope, silently and demurely 
enjoyed it. 

Tor the better understanding of the general reader, who 
does not live on an isolated mountain, it may be observed 
that the young lady's position on the rock exhibited some 
study oi pose, and a certain exaggeration of attitude that 
betrayed the habit of an audience ; also that her voice had 
an artificial accent that was not wholly unconscious even in 
this lofty solitude. Yet the very next moment, when she 
turned and caught Rand's eye fixed upon her, she started 
naturally, coloured slightly, uttered that feminine adjuration, 
*' Good Lord! gracious! goodness me !" which is seldom 
used in reference to its efl"ect upon the hearer, and skipped 
instantly from the boulder to the ground. Here, however, 
she alighted in a pose — brought the right heel of her neatly 
fitting left boot closely into the hollowed side of her right 
instep; at the same moment deftly caught her flying skirt, 
whipped it around her ankles, and slightly raising it behind, 
permitted the chaste display of an inch or two of frilled 
white petticoat. The most irreverent critic of the sex will, 
I think, admit that it has some movements that are auto- 
matic. 

" Hope I didn't disturb ye," said Rand, pointing to the 
flasf-stafl". 



204 The Twins of Table Mount ain. 

The young lady, slightly turned her head. " No," she said ; 
"but I didn't know anybody was here, of course. Our 
party " — she emphasised the word, and accompanied it 
with a look toward the farther extremity of the plateau, to 
show she was not alone — " our party climbed this ridge, 
and put up this pole as a sign that they did it." The ridicu- 
lous self-complacency of this record in the face of a man 
who was evidently a dweller on the mountain, apparently 
struck her for the first time. "We didn't know," she stam- 
mered, looking at the shaft from which Rand had emerged, 
"that — that" She stopped, and glancing again to- 
wards the distant range where her friends had disappeared, 
began to edge away. 

" They can't be far off," interposed Rand quietly, as if 
it were the most natural thing in the world for the lady 
to be there ; '* Table Mountain ain't as big as all that. 
Don't you be scared ! So you thought nobody lived up 
here ? " 

She turned upon him a pair of honest hazel eyes, which 
not only contradicted the somewhat meretricious smartness 
of her dress, but was utterly inconsistent with the palpable 
artificial colour of her hair — an obvious imitation of a certain 
popular fashion then known in artistic circles as the " British 
Blonde," — and began to ostentatiously resume a pair of 
lemon-coloured kid gloves. Having, as it were, thus indi- 
cated her standing and respectability, and put an immeasu- 
rable distance between herself and her bold interlocutor, 
she said impressively, " We evidently made a mistake ; I 
will rejoin our party, who will, of course, apologise." 

"What's your hurry?" said the imperturbable Rand, 
disengaging himself from the rope and walking towards her. 
" As long as you're up here, you might stop a spell." 

" I have no wish to intrude — that is, our party certainly 
has not," continued the young lady, pulling the tight gloves. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 205 

and smoothing the plump, almost bursting fingers, with an 
affectation of fashionable ease. 

"Oh, I haven't anything to do just now," said Rand, 
*'and it's about grub time, I reckon. Yes, I live here, 
Ruth and me ; right here." 

The young woman glanced at the shaft. 

*' No, not down there," said Rand, following her eye, 
with a laugh. " Come here, and I'll show you." 

A strong desire to keep up an appearance of genteel 
reserve, and an equally strong inchnation to enjoy the 
adventurous company of this good-looking, hearty young 
fellow, made her hesitate. Perhaps she regretted having 
undertaken a role of such dignity at the beginning ; she 
could have been so perfectly natural with this perfectly 
natural man, whereas, any relaxation now might increase 
his familiarity. And yet she was not without a vague sus- 
picion that her dignity and her gloves were alike thrown 
away on him — a fact made the more evident when Rand 
stepped to her side, and without any apparent conscious- 
ness of disrespect or gallantry, laid his large hand, half 
persuasively, half fraternally upon her shoulder, and said, 
" Oh, come along, do." 

The simple act either exceeded the limits of her forbear- 
ance or decided the course of her subsequent behaviour. 
She instantly stepped back a single pace, and drew her left 
foot slowly and deliberately after her. Then she fixed her 
eyes and uplifted eyebrows upon the daring hand, and taking 
it by the ends of her thumb and forefinger, lifted it and 
dropped it in mid-air. She then folded her arms. It was the 
indignant gesture with which "Alice," the Pride of Dum- 
ballin Village, received the loathsome advances of the 
bloated aristocrat. Sir Parkyns Parkyn, and had at Marysville, 
a few nights before, brought down the house. 

This effect was, I think, however, lost upon Rand. The 



2o6 . The Twins of Table Mountain. 

slight colour that rose to his cheek as he looked down upon 
his clay-soiled hands, was due to the beUef that he had 
really contaminated her outward superfine person. But his 
colour quickly passed, his frank, boyish smile returned, as 
he said, " It'll rub off. Lord, don't mind that. Thar, 



now — come on 



I » 



The young woman bit her lip. Then nature triumphed, 
and she laughed, although a little scornfully. And then 
Providence assisted her with the sudden presentation of 
two figures — a man and woman, slowly climbing up over the 
mountain verge, not far from them. With a cry of, " There's 
Sol, now," she forgot her dignity and her confusion, and ran 
towards them. 

Rand stood looking after her neat figure, less concerned 
in the advent of the strangers than in her sudden caprice. 
He was not so young and inexperienced but that he noted 
certain ambiguities in her dress and manner; he was by no 
means impressed by her dignity. But he could not help 
watching her as she appeared to be volubly recounting her 
late interview to her companions ; and still unconscious of 
any impropriety or obtrusiveness, he lounged down lazily 
towards her. Her humour had evidently changed, for she 
turned an honest pleased face upon him, as she girlishly 
attempted to drag the strangers forward. 

The man was plump and short ; unlike the natives of the 
locality, he was closely cropped and shaven, as if to keep 
down the strong blue-blackness of his beard and hair, 
which nevertheless asserted itself over his round cheeks 
and upper lip like a tattooing of Indian ink. The woman 
at his side was reserved and indistinctive, with that appear- 
ance of being an unenthusiastic family servant peculiar to 
some men's wives. When Rand was within a few feet of 
him, he started, struck a theatrical attitude, and shading 
his eyes with his hand, cried, " What, do me eyes deceive 



The Twins of Table Moitntain. 207 

me ! " burst into a hearty laugh, darted forward, seized 
Rand's hand and shook it briskly. 

"Pinkney! Pinkney, my boy, how are you? And this 
is your little 'prop?' your quarter-section, your country 
seat, that we've been trespassing on — eh ? A nice little 
spot — cool, sequestered, remote ! A trifle unimproved : 
carriage road as yet unfinished — ha ! ha ! But to think of 
our making a discovery of this inaccessible mountain ; 
climbing it, sir, for two mortal hours ; christening it ' Sol's 
Peak ; ' getting up a flag-pole, unfurling our standard to the 
breeze, sir, and then, by Jingo, winding up by finding 
Pinkney — the festive Pinkney — living on it at home ! " 

Completely surprised, but still perfectly good-humoured, 
Rand shook one of the stranger's hands warmly, and 
received on his broad shoulders a welcoming thwack from 
the other, without question. "She don't mind her friends 
making free with me, evidently," said Rand to himself, as 
he tried to suggest that fact to the young lady in a meaning 
glance. 

The stranger noted his glance, and suddenly passed his 
hand thoughtfully over his shaven cheeks. " No ! " he 
said. " Yes, surely, I forget ! Yes, I see ; of course you 
don't. Rosy," turning to his wife, " of course, Pinkney 
doesn't know Phemie — eh ? " 

" No, nor me either, Sol," said that lady warningly. 

" Certainly," continued Sol. " It's his misfortune ! You 
weren't with me at Gold Hill. Allow me," he said, turning 
to Rand, " to present Mrs. Sol Saunders, wife of the under- 
signed, and Miss Euphemia Neville, otherwise known as 
the ' Marysville Pet,' the best variety-actress known on the 
provincial boards. Played Ophelia at Marysville, Friday; 
domestic drama at Gold Hill, Saturday; Sunday night, 
four songs in character, different dress each time, and a 
clog-dance. The best clog-dance on the Pacific Slope," he 



2o8 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

added, in a stage aside, " The minstrels are crazy to get 
her in 'Frisco. But money can't buy her — prefers the 
legitimate drama to this sort of thing." Here he took a 
few steps of a jig, to which the Marysville Pet beat time 
with her feet, and concluded with a laugh and a wink — the 
combined expression of an artist's admiration for her 
abihty, and a man of the world's scepticism of feminine 
ambition. 

Miss Euphemia responded to the formal introduction by 
extending her hand frankly with a reassuring smile to 
Rand, and an utter obliviousness of her former hauteur. 
Rand shook it warmly, and then dropped carelessly on a 
rock beside them. 

" And you never told me you lived up here in the attic, 
you rascal," continued Sol with a laugh. 

" No," replied Rand simply. " How could I ? I never 
saw you before, that I remember." 

Miss Euphemia stared at Sol. Mrs. Sol looked up in 
her lord's face, and folded her arms in a resigned expres- 
sion. Sol rose to his feet again, and shaded his eyes with 
his hand, but this time quite seriously, and gazed at Rand's 
smiling face. 

" Good Lord ! Do you mean to say your name isn't 
Pinkney?" he asked, with a half-embarrassed laugh. 

" It is Pinkney," said Rand, " but I never met you 
before." 

" Didn't you come to see a young lady that joined my 
troupe at Gold Hill, last month, and say you'd meet me at 
Keeler's Ferry in a day or two ? " 

" No-o-o," said Rand, with a good-humoured laugh. "I 
haven't left this mountain for two months." 

He might have added more, but his attention was 
directed to Miss Euphemia, who during this short dialogue, 
having stuffed alternately her handkerchief, the corner of 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 209 

her mantle, and her gloves into her mouth, restrained her- 
self no longer, but gave way to an uncontrollable fit of 
laughter. " O Sol," she gasped explanatorily, as she 
threw herself alternately against him, Mrs. Sol, and a 
boulder, " you'll kill me yet ! O Lord ! first we take 
possession of this man's property, then we claim him" 
The contemplation of this humorous climax affected her so 
that she was fain at last to walk away and confide the rest 
of her speech to space. 

Sol joined in the laugh until his wife plucked his sleeve, 
and whispered something in his ear. In an instant his 
face became at once mysterious and demure. " I owe you 
an apology," he said, turning to Rand, but in a voice 
ostentatiously pitched high enough for Miss Euphemia to 
overhear ; " I see I have made a mistake. A resemblance 
— only a mere resemblance, as I look at you now — led me 
astray. Of course you don't know any young lady in the 
profession t " 

" Of course he doesn't, Sol," said Miss Euphemia. " / 
could have told you that. He didn't even know me ! " 

The voice and mock-heroic attitude of the speaker was 
enough to relieve the general embarrassment with a laugh. 
Rand, now pleasantly conscious of only Miss Euphemia's 
presence, again offered the hospitality of his cabin — with 
the polite recognition of her friends in the sentence, *' and 
you might as well come along too ! " 

"But won't- we incommode the lady of the house?" 
said Mrs. Sol poHtely. 

" What lady of the house ? " said Rand, almost angrily. 

** Why — Ruth, you know ! '* 

It was Rand's turn to become hilarious. " Ruth," he 
said, " is short for Rutherford, my brother." His laugh, 
however, was echoed only by Euphemia. 

*' Then you have a brother ? " said Mrs. Sol benignly. 

o 



2IO The Twins of Table Mountain. 

" Yes," said Rand ; " he will be here soon." A sudden 
thought dropped the colour from his cheek. " Look 
here," he said, turning impulsively upon Sol. " I have a 
brother, a twin brother. It couldn't be him "- 

Sol was conscious of a significant feminine pressure on 
his right arm. He was equal to the emergency. "I think 
not," he said dubiously, " unless your brother's hair is much 
darker than yours. Yes ! now I look at you, yours is 
brown. He has a mole on his right cheek — hasn't he ? " 

The red came quickly back to Rand's boyish face. He 
laughed. " No, sir ; my brother's hair is, if anything, a 
shade lighter than mine; and nary mole ! Come along !" 

And leading the way, Rand disclosed the narrow steps 
winding down to the shelf on which the cabin hung. " Be 
careful," said Rand, taking the now unresisting hand of the 
Marysville Pet as they descended: "a step that way, and 
down you go, two thousand feet on the top of a pine-tree." 

But the girl's slight cry of alarm was presently changed 
to one of unaffected pleasure, as they stood on the rocky 
platform. " It isn't a house ; it's a nesf, and the loveliest !'* 
said Euphemia breathlessly. 

*'It's a scene! a perfect scene, sir!" said Sol enraptured. 
"I shall take the liberty of bringing my scene-painter to 
sketch it, some day. It would do for ^The Mountaineer's 
Bride ' superbly, or," continued the little man, warming 
through the blue-black border of his face with professional 
enthusiasm, "it's enough to make a play itself! 'The Cot 
on the Crags.' Last scene — moonlight — the struggle on 
the ledge ! — The Lady of the Crags — throws herself from 
the beetling heights ! — A shriek from the depths — a woman's 
wail!" 

" Dry up ! " sharply interrupted Rand, to whom this 
speech recalled his brother's half-forgotten strangeness. 
*' Look at the prospect." 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 2 1 1 

In the full noon of a cloudless day, beneath them a 
tumultuous sea of pines surged, heaved, rode in giant 
crests, stretched and spent itself in the ghostly, snow-peaked 
horizon. The thronging woods choked every defile, swept 
every crest, filled every valley with its dark-green tilting 
spears, and left only Table Mountain sunlit and bare. 
Here and there were profound olive depths, over which the 
grey hawk hung lazily, and into which blue jays dipped. 
A faint, dull, yellowish streak marked an occasional water- 
course; a deeper reddish riband, the mountain road and 
its overhanging murky cloud of dust. 

" Is it quite safe here ? " asked Mrs. Sol, eyeing the little 
cabin. " I mean from storms ? " 

" It never blows up here," replied Rand, " and nothing 
happens." 

"It must be lovely!" said Euphemia, clasping her hands. 

"It is that," said Rand proudly. "It's four years since 
Ruth and I took up this yer claim, and raised this shanty. 
In that four years we haven't left it alone a night, or cared 
to. It's only big enough for two, and them two must be 
brothers. It wouldn't do for mere pardners to live here 
alone — they couldn't do it. It wouldn't be exactly the 
thing for. man and wife to shut themselves up here alone. 
But Ruth and me know each other's ways, and here we'll 
stay until we've made a pile. We sometimes — one of us — 
takes a pasear to the Ferry, to buy provisions, but we're 
glad to crawl up to the back of old ' Table ' at night." 

"You're quite out of the world here, then?" suggested 
Mrs. Sol. 

"That's it — ^just it ! We're out of the world, out of rows, 
out of liquor, out of cards, out of bad company, out of 
temptation. Cussedness and foolishness hez got to follow 
us up here to find us, and there's too many ready to climb 
<iown to them things to tempt 'em to come up to us." 



212 The Twins of Table Mountam. 

There was a little boyish conceit in his tone, as he stood 
there, not altogether unbecoming his fresh colour and sim- 
plicity. Yet when his eyes met those of Miss Euphemia, 
he coloured, he hardly knew why, and the young lady 
herself blushed rosily. 

When the neat cabin, with its decorated walls, and 
squirrel and wild-cat skins, were duly admired, the luncheon- 
basket of the Saunders party was reinforced by provisions 
from Rand's larder, and spread upon the ledge; the dimen- 
sions of the cabin not admitting four. Under the potent 
influence of a bottle, Sol became hilarious and professional. 
The "Pet" was induced to favour the company with a 
recitation, and, under the plea of teaching Rand, to perform 
the clog-dance with both gentlemen. Then there was an 
interval, in which Rand and Euphemia wandered a little 
way down the mountain side to gather laurel, leaving Mr. 
Sol to his siesta on a rock, and Mrs. Sol to take some 
knitting from the basket, and sit beside him. 

When Rand and his companion had disappeared, Mrs. 
Sol nudged her sleeping partner. " Do you think that was 
the brother ? " 

Sol yawned. " Sure of it. They're as like as two peas, 
in looks." 

" Why didn't you tell him so, then ? " 

" Will you tell me, my dear, why you stopped me when 
I began?" 

" Because something was said about Ruth being here 
and I supposed Ruth was a woman, and perhaps Pinkney's 
wife, and knew you'd be putting your foot in it by talking 
of that other woman. I supposed it was for fear of that 
he denied knowing you." 

"Well, when he, — this Rand, — told me he had a twin 
brother, he looked so frightened that I knew he knew nothing 
of his brother's doings with that woman, and I threw him off 



The Tzvins of Table Mottntain, 213 

the scent. He's a good fellow, but awfully green, and I 
didn't want to worry him with tales. I like him, and I 
think Phemie does too." 

" Nonsense ! He's a conceited prig ! Did you hear his 
sermon on the world and its temptations? I wonder if he 
thought temptation had come up to him in the person of 
us professionals, out on a picnic. I think it was positively 
rude." 

" My dear woman, you're always seeing slights and 
insults. I tell you, he's taken a shine to Phemie, and he's 
as good as four seats and a bouquet to that child next 
Wednesday evening. To say nothing of the eclat of getting 
this St. Simeon — what do you call him — Stalactites ? " 

" Stylites," suggested Mrs. Sol. 

" Stylites, off from his pillar here. FU have a paragraph 
in the paper, that the hermit crabs of Table Mountain " 

" Don't be a fool, Sol!'^ 

"The hermit twins of Table Mountain bespoke the 
chaste performance." 

"One of them being the protector of the well-known 
Mornie Nixon," responded Mrs. Sol, viciously accenting 
the name with her knitting-needles. 

" Rosy, you're unjust. You're prejudiced by the reports 
of the town. Mr. Pinkney's interest in her may be a purely 
artistic one — although mistaken. She'll never make a good 
variety-actress — she's too heavy. And the boys don't give 
her a fair show. No woman can make a debut in my ver- 
sion of ' Somnambula,' and have the front row in the pit 
say to her, in the sleep-walking scene, * You're out rather 
late, Mornie. Kinder forgot to put on your things, didn't 
you ? Mother sick, I suppose, and you're goin' for more 
gin ? Hurry along, or you'll ketch it when ye get home.* 
Why, you couldn't do it yourself. Rosy ! " 

To which Mrs. Sol's illogical climax was that, "bad as 



2 1 4 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

Rutherford might be — this Sunday-school superintendent, 
Rand, was worse." 

Rand and his companion returned late, but in high 
spirits. There was an unnecessary effusiveness in the way 
in which Euphemia kissed Mrs. Sol — the one woman pre- 
sent, who tmdet'stood, and was to be propitiated — which 
did not tend to increase her good humour. She had her 
basket packed already for departure, and even the earnest 
soHcitation of Rand, that they would defer their going until 
sunset, produced no effect 

" Mr. Rand — Mr. Pinkney, I mean, says the sunsets here 
are so lovely," pleaded Euphemia. 

'• There is a rehearsal at seven o'clock, and we have no 
time to lose," said Mrs. Sol significantly. 

" I forgot to say," said the Marysville Pet timidly, glanc- 
ing at Mrs. Sol, "that Mr. Rand says he will bring his 
brother on Wednesday night, and wants four seats in front, 
so as not to be crowded." 

Sol shook the young man's hand warmly. "You'll not 
regret it, sir ; it's a surprising, a remarkable performance." 

"I'd like to go a piece down the mountain with you," 
said Rand with evident sincerity, looking at Miss Euphemia; 
" but Ruth isn't here yet, and we make a rule never to 
leave the place alone. I'll show you the shde : it's the 
quickest way to go down. If you meet any one who looks 
like me, and talks like me, call him ' Ruth,' and tell him 
I'm waitin' for him yer." 

Miss Phemia, the last to go, standing on the verge of the 
declivity, here remarked, with a dangerous smile, that if she 
met any one who bore that resemblance, she might be 
tempted to keep him with her — a playfulness that brought 
the ready colour to Rand's cheek. When she added to this 
the greater audacity of kissing her hand to him, the young 
hermit actually turned away in sheer embarrassment. When 



The Twins of Table Motmtain. 2 1 5 

he looked around again, she was gone, and for the first time 
in his experience, the mountain seemed barren and lonely. 

The too sympathetic reader who would rashly deduce 
from this any newly awakened sentiment in the virgin heart 
of Rand, would quite misapprehend that peculiar young 
man. That singular mixture of boyish inexperience and 
mature doubt and disbelief, which was partly the result of 
his temperament, and partly of his cloistered life on the 
mountain, made him regard his late companions, now that 
they were gone, and his intimacy with them, with remorse- 
ful distrust. The mountain was barren and lonely, because 
it was no longer his. It had become a part of the great 
world which, four years ago, he and his brother had put 
aside ; and in which, as two self-devoted men, they walked 
alone. More than that, he believed he had acquired some 
understanding of the temptations that assailed his brother, 
and the poor Httle vanities of the " Marysville Pet " were 
transformed into the blandishments of a Circe. Rand, who 
would have succumbed to a wicked, superior woman, be- 
lieved he was a saint in withstanding the foolish weakness 
of a simple one. 

He did not resume his work that day. He paced the 
mountain, anxiously awaiting his brother's return, and eagei 
to relate his experiences. He would go with him to the 
dramatic entertainment; from his example and wisdom 
Ruth should learn how easily temptation might be overcome. 
But, first of all, there should be the fullest exchange of con- 
fidences and explanations. The old rule should be re- 
scinded for once — the old discussion in regard to Mornie 
re-opened ; and Rand, having convinced his brother of 
error, would generously extend his forgiveness. 

The sun sank redly. Lingering long upon the ledge be- 
fore their cabin, it at last slipped away almost imperceptibly, 
leaving Rand still wrapped in reverie. Darkness, the smoke 



2 1 6 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

of distant fires in the woods, and the faint evening incense 
of the pines crept slowly up, but Ruth came not. The 
moon rose — a silver gleam on the farther ridge ; and Rand 
becoming uneasy at his brother's prolonged absence, 
resolved to break another custom and leave the summit, to 
seek him on the trail. He buckled on his revolver, seized 
his gun, when a cry from the depths arrested him. He 
leaned over the ledge and listened. Again the cry arose, 
and this time more distinctly. He held his breath ; the 
blood settled around his heart in superstitious terror. It 
was the wailing voice of a woman ! 

" Ruth ! Ruth ! for God's sake come and help me ! " 

The blood flew back hotly to Rand's cheek. It was 
Mornie's voice ! By leaning over the ledge he could dis- 
tinguish something moving along the almost precipitous face 
of the cliff, where an abandoned trail, long since broken off 
and disrupted by the fall of a portion of the ledge, stopped 
abruptly a hundred feet below him. Rand knew the trail, 
a dangerous one always ; in its present condition a single 
mis-step would be fatal. Would she make that mis-step ? 
He shook off a horrible temptation that seemed to be seal- 
ing his lips and paralysing his limbs, and almost screamed 
to her, " Drop on your face, hang on to the chappa7'al, and 
don't move ! " In another instant, with a coil of rope 
around his arm, he was dashing down the almost perpen- 
dicular " slide." When he had nearly reached the level of 
the abandoned trail, he fastened one end of the rope to a 
jutting splinter of granite, and began to " lay out," and 
work his way laterally along the face of the mountain. 
Presently he struck the regular trail at the point from which 
the woman must have diverged. 

'* It is Rand ! " she said, without lifting her head. 

" It is," replied Rand coldly. " Pass the rope under 
your arms, and I'll get you back to the trail." 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 2 1 7 

"Where is Ruth ? " she demanded again, without moving. 
She was trembling, but with excitement rather than fear. 

"I don't know," returned Rand impatiently. " Come ! 
the ledge is already crumbling beneath our feet." 

" Let it crumble ! " said the woman passionately. 

Rand surveyed her with profound disgust, then passed 
the rope around her waist, and half lifted, half swung her 
from her feet. In a few moments she began to mechani- 
cally help herself, and permitted him to guide her to a 
place of safety. That reached, she sank down again. 

The rising moon shone full upon her face and figure. 
Through his growing indignation Rand was still impressed 
and even startled with the change the last few months had 
wrought upon her. In place of the silly, fanciful, half- 
hysterical hoyden whom he had known, a matured woman, 
strong in passionate self-will, fascinating in a kind of wild 
savage beauty, looked up at him as if to read his very soul. 

"What are you staring at?" she said finally. "Why 
don't you help me on ? " 

" Where do you want to go ? " said Rand quietly. 

"Where ! — up there !" — she pointed savagely to the top 
of the mountain, — "to him! Where else should I go?" 
she said, with a bitter laugh. 

"I've told you he wasn't there," said Rand roughly. 
" He hasn't returned." 

" I'll wait for him ! — do you hear? — wait for him ! Stay 
there till he comes ! If you won't help me, I'll go alone !" 

She made a step forward, but faltered, staggered, and was 
obliged to lean against the mountain for support. Stains 
of travel were on her dress ; lines of fatigue and pajn, and 
traces of burning, passionate tears, were on her face ; her 
black hair flowed from beneath her gaudy bonnet \ and 
shamed out of his brutality. Rand placed his strong arm 
round her waist, and, half carrying, half supporting her, 



2 1 8 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

began the ascent. Her head dropped wearily on his 
shoulder ; her arm encircled his neck ; her hair as if caress- 
ingly lay across his breast and hands ; her grateful eyes 
were close to his, her breath was upon his cheek ; and yet 
his only consciousness was of the possibly ludicrous figure 
he might present to his brother should he meet him with 
Mornie Nixon in his arms. Not a word was spoken by 
either till they reached the summit. Relieved at finding 
his brother still absent, he turned not unkindly toward 
the helpless figure on his arm. " I don't see what makes 
E-uth so late," he said. " He's always here by sundown. 
Perhaps " 

" Perhaps he knows I'm here," said Mornie, with a bitter 
laugh. 

" I didn't say that," said Rand, " and I don't think it. 
What I meant was, he might have met a party that was 
picnicing here to-day. Sol Saunders and wife, and Miss 
Euphemia " 

Mornie flung his arm away from her with a passion- 
ate gesture. " They here ! picnicing he7'e ! — those people 
hereV 

"Yes," said Rand, unconsciously ^a Httle ashamed. 
*' They came here accidently." 

Mornie's quick passion had subsided ; she had sunk 
again wearily and helplessly on a rock beside him. " I 
suppose," she said, with a weak laugh — " I suppose they 
talked of me. I suppose they told you how — with their lies 
and fair promises — they tricked me out, and set rae before 
an audience of brutes and laughing hyenas to make merry 
over ! Did they tell you of the insults that I received ? — 
how the sins of my parents were flung at me instead of 
bouquets.^ Did they tell you they could have spared me 
this, but they wanted the few extra dollars taken in at the 
door ? No ! " 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 219 

"They said nothing of the kind," replied Rand surlily. 
" Then you must have stopped them ! You were 
horrified enough to know that I had dared to take the only 
honest way left me to make a living. I know you, 
Randolph Pinkney. You'd rather see Joaquin Muriatta, 
the Mexican bandit, standing before you to-night with a 
revolver, than the helpless, shamed, miserable Mornie 
Nixon ! And you can't help yourself, unless you throw me 
over the cliff. Perhaps you'd better," she said, with a bitter 
laugh that faded from her lips as she leaned, pale and 
breathless, against the boulder. 

" Ruth will tell you " began Rand. 

" D— n Ruth ! " 

Rand turned away. 

" Stop ! " she said suddenly, staggering to her feet. " I'm 
sick — for all I know, dying. God grant that it may be so ! 
But, if you are a man, you will help me to your cabin — 
to some place where I can lie down now and be at rest. 
I'm very, very tired." 

She paused; she would have fallen again, but Rand, 
seeing more in her face than her voice interpreted to his 
sullen ears, took her sullenly in his arms and carried her to 
the cabin. Her eyes glanced around the bright parti- 
coloured walls, and a faint smile came to her lips as she 
put aside her bonnet, adorned with a companion pinion of 
the bright wing« that covered it. 

" Which is Ruth's bed ? " she asked. 

Rand pointed to it. 

" Lay me there ! " 

Rand would have hesitated, but with another look at her 
face complied. 

She lay quite still a moment. Presently she said, " Give 
me some brandy or whisky ! " 

Rand was silent and confused. 



220 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

" I forgot," she added, half bitterly ; " I know you have 
not that commonest and cheapest of vices." 

She lay quite still again. Suddenly she raised herself 
partly on her elbow, and in a strong, firm voice, said — 
"Rand!" 

^' Yes, Mornie." 

"If you are wise and practical, as you assume to be, you* 
will do what I ask you without a question. If you do it at 
once you may save yourself and Ruth some trouble, some 
mortification, and perhaps some remorse and sorrow. Do 
you hear me ? " 

" Yes ! " 

"Go to the nearest doctor and bring him here with 
you." 

"But 7^2^/" 

Her voice was strong, confident, steady and patient. 
" You can safely leave me until then." 

In another moment. Rand was plunging down the 
"slide." But it was past midnight when he struggled over 
the last boulder up the ascent, dragging the half-exhausted 
medical wisdom of Brown's Ferry on his arm. 

" I've been gone long, doctor," said Rand feverishly, 
" and she looked so death-like when I left. If we should 
be too late?" 

The doctor stopped suddenly, lifted his head, and 
pricked his ears like a hound on a pecuHar scent. " We 
are too late," he said, with a slight professional laugh. 

Indignant and horrified. Rand turned upon him. 

" Listen," said the doctor, lifting his hand. 

Rand listened ; so intently that he heard the familiar 
moan of the river below, but the great stony field lay silent 
before him. And then, borne across its bare barren bosom, 
like its own articulation, came faintly the feeble wail of a 
new-born babe. 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 221 



PART III. 

STORM. 

The doctor hurried ahead in the darkness. Rand, who 
had stopped paralysed at the ominous sound, started 
forward again mechanically ; but as the cry arose again 
more distinctly, and the full significance of the doctor's 
words came to him, he faltered, stopped, and with cheeks 
burning with shame and helpless indignation, sank upon a 
stone beside the shaft, and, burying his face in his hands, 
fairly gave way to a burst of boyish tears. Yet even then, 
the recollection that he had not cried since, years ago, 
his mother's dying hands had joined his and Ruth's 
childish fingers together, stung him fiercely and dried his 
tears in angry heat upon his cheeks. 

How long he sat there he remembered not; what he 
thought he recalled not. But the wildest and most extra- 
vagant plans and resolves availed him nothing in the face 
of this for ever desecrated hom.e, and this shameful 
culmination of his ambitious life on the mountain. Once 
he thought of flight, but the reflection that he would still 
abandon his brother to shame, perhaps a self- contented 
shame, checked him hopelessly. Could he avert the 
future ? He must— hut how ? Yet he could only sit and 
stare into the darkness in dumb abstraction. 

Sitting there, his eyes fell upon a peculiar object in a 
crevice of the ledge beside the shaft. It was the tin pail 
containing his dinner, which, according to their custom, it 
was the duty of the brother who stayed above ground to 
prepare and place for the brother who worked below. 
Ruth must, consequently, have put it there before he left 
that morning, and Rand had overlooked it while sharing 
the repast of the strangers at noon. At the sight of this 



222 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

dumb witness of their mutual cares and labours Rand 
sighed — half in brotherly sorrow, half in a selfish sense of 
injury done him. He took up the pail mechanically, 
removed its cover and — started ! For on top of the care- 
fully bestowed provisions lay a little note, addressed to 
him in Ruth's peculiar scrawl. 

He opened it with feverish hands, held it in the light of 
the peaceful moon, and read as follows : — 

"Dear, dear Brother, — When you read this I shall 
be far away. I go because I shall not stay to disgrace you, 
and because the girl that I brought trouble upon has gone 
away too, to hide her disgrace and mine ; and where she 
goes. Rand, I ought to follow her, and, please God, I will ! 
I am not as wise or as good as you are, but it seems the 
best I can do; and God bless you, dear old Randy, boy! 
Times and times again Tve wanted to tell you all, and 
reckoned to do so ; but whether you was sitting before me 
in the cabin, or working beside me in the drift, I couldn't 
get to look upon your honest face, dear brother, and say 
what things I'd been keeping from you so long. I'll stay 
away until I've done what I ought to do, and if you can say, 
' Come, Ruth,' I will come ; but until you can say it, the 
mountain is yours. Randy boy, the mine is yours, the cabin 
is yours, all is yours ! Rub out the old chalk marks. Rand, 
as I rub them out here in my " (a few words here were blurred 
and indistinct, as if the moon had suddenly become dim- 
eyed too). " God bless you, brother. 

"P.S. — You know I mean Mornie all the time. It's she 
I'm going to seek ; but don't you think so bad of her as 
you do ; I am so much worse than she. I wanted to tell 
you that all along, but I didn't dare. She's run away from 
the Ferry, half crazy; said she was going to Sacramento, 
and I am going there to find her alive or dead. Forgive 



The Twins of Table Momttain. 223 

me, brother ! Don't throw this down, right away -, hold it 
in your hand a moment, Randy, boy, and try hard to think 
it's my hand in yours. And so good-bye, and God bless 
you, old Randy. — From your loving brother, 

" Ruth." 

A deep sense of relief overpowered every other feeling 
in Rand's breast. It was clear that Ruth had not yet dis- 
covered the truth of Mornie's flight ; he was on his way to 
Sacramento, and before he could return, Mornie could be 
removed. Once despatched in some other direction, with 
Ruth once more returned and under his brother's guidance, 
the separation could be made easy and final. There was 
evidently no marriage as yet, and now, the fear of an 
immediate meeting over, there should be none. For Rand 
had already feared this; had recalled the few infeUcitous rela- 
tions, legal and illegal, which were common to the adjoining 
camp ; the flagrantly miserable life of the husband of a San 
Francisco anonyma, who lived in style at the Ferry; the 
shameful carousals and more shameful quarrels of the 
Frenchman and Mexican woman, who " kept house " at 
" the Crossing ; " the awful spectacle of the three half-bred 
Indian children who played before the cabin of a fellow 
miner and townsman. Thank heaven, the Eagle's Nest on 
Table Mountain should never be pointed at from the valley 
as another. 

A heavy hand upon his arm brought him trembling to 
his feet. He turned and met the half-anxious, half-con- 
temptuous glance of the doctor. 

*' I'm sorry to disturb you," he said drily, " but it's about 
time you or somebody else put in an appearance at that 
cabin. Luckily for her, she's one woman in a thousand — 
has had her wits about her better than some folks I know, 
and has left me little to do but make her comfortable. 



224 '^^^ Twins of Table Mountain. 

But she's gone through too much — fought her Httle fight 
too gallantly — is altogether too much of a trump to be 
played off upon now. So rise up out of that, young man ; 
pick up your scattered faculties, and fetch a woman — some 
sensible creature of her own sex — to look after her; for, 
without wishing to be personal, I'm d— ^ — d if I trust her 
to the likes of you." 

There was no mistaking Doctor Duchesne's voice and 
manner, and Rand was affected by it, as most people were, 
throughout the valley of the Stanislaus. But he turned upon 
him his frank and boyish face, and said simply, " But I 
don't know any woman, or where to get one." 

The doctor looked at him again. " Well, I'll find you 
some one," he said, softening. 

"Thank you," said Rand. 

The doctor was disappearing. With an effort Rand 
recalled him. " One moment, doctor." He hesitated, 
and his cheeks were glowing. " You'll please say nothing 
about this down there" — he pointed to the valley — "for a 
time. And you'll say to the woman you send " 

Dr. Duchesne, whose resolute Hps were sealed upon the 
secrets of half Tuolumne county, interrupted him scorn- 
fully. "I cannot answer for the woman — you must talk 
to her yourself. As for me, generally I keep my profes- 
sional visits to myself, but" — he laid his hand on Rand's 
arm — "if I find out you're putting on any airs to that poor 
creature, — if on my next visit her lips or her pulse tell me 
you haven't been acting on the square to her, I'll drop a 
hint to drunken old Nixon where his daughter is hidden. 
I reckon she could stand his brutality better than yours. 
Good-night!" 

In another moment he was gone. Rand, who had held 
back his quick tongue, feeling himself in the power of this 
man, once more alone, sank on a rock, and buried his face 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 225 

in his hands. Recalling himself in a moment, he rose, wiped 
his hot eyelids, and staggered toward the cabin. It was quite 
still now ; he paused on the topmost step and listened \ 
there was no sound from the ledge or the Eagle's Nest that 
clung to it. Half timidly he descended the winding steps, 
and paused before the door of the cabin. " Mornie," he 
said, in a dry, metallic voice, whose only indication of the 
presence of sickness was in the lowness of its pitch — 
"Mornie." There was no reply. "Mornie," he repeated 
impatiently, " it's me — Rand ! If you want anything you're 
to call me. I am just outside." Still no answer came from 
the silent cabin. He pushed open the door gently, hesi- 
tated, and stepped over the threshold. 

A change in the interior of the cabin within the last few 
hours, showed a new presence. The guns, shovels, picks, 
and blankets had disappeared, the two chairs were drawn 
against the wall, the table placed by the bedside. The 
swinging lantern was shaded towards the bed — the object 
of Rand's attention. On that bed, his brother's bed, lay a 
helpless woman, pale from the long black hair that matted 
her damp forehead, and clung to her hollow cheeks. Her 
face was turned to the wall, so that the softened light fell 
upon her profile, which to Rand, at that moment, seemed 
even noble and strong. But the next moment his eye fell 
upon the shoulder and arm that lay nearest to him, and the 
little bundle swathed in flannel that it clasped to her breast. 
His brow grew dark as he gazed. The sleeping woman 
moved : perhaps it was an instinctive consciousness of his 
presence — perhaps it was only the current of cold air from 
the opened door, — but she shuddered slightly, and, still 
unconscious, drew the child as if away from him, and nearer 
to her breast. The shamed blood rushed to Rand's face, and 
saying half aloud, " I'm not going to take your precious 
babe away from you," turned in half-boyish pettishness 

VOL. V. p 



2 26 The Twms of Table Mountain. 

away. Nevertheless, he came back again, shortly, to the 
bedside, and gazed upon them both. She certainly did 
look altogether more ladylike and less aggressive lying 
there so still ; sickness, that cheap refining power of some 
natures, was not unbecoming to her. But this bundle ! 
A boyish curiosity, stronger than even his strong objection 
to the whole episode, was steadily impelling him to lift the 
blanket from it. " I suppose she'd waken if I did," said 
Rand, " but I'd like to know what right the doctor had to 
wrap it up in my best flannel shirt." This fresh grievance, 
the fruit of his curiosity, sent him away again to meditate 
on the ledge. After a few moments he returned again, 
opened the cupboard at the foot of the bed softly, took 
thence a piece of chalk, and scrawled in large letters upon 
the door of the cupboard, "If you want anything, sing out : 
I'm just outside — Rand." This done, he took a blanket 
and bear-skin from the corner, and walked to the door. 
But here he paused, looked back at the inscription ; evi- 
dently not satisfied with it, returned, took up the chalk, 
added a line, but rubbed it out again, repeated this opera- 
tion a few times until he produced the polite postcript — 
*' Hope you'll be better soon." Then he retreated to the 
ledge, spread the bear-skin beside the door, and rolling 
himself in a blanket, lit his pipe for his night-long vigil. 
But Rand, although a martyr, a philosopher, and a moralist, 
was young. In less than ten minutes the pipe dropped 
from his lips, and he was asleep. 

He awoke with a strange sense of heat and suffocation, 
and with difficulty shook off his covering. Rubbing his 
eyes, he discovered that an extra blanket had in some 
mysterious way been added in the night, and beneath his 
head was a pillow he had no recollection of placing there 
when he went to sleep. By degrees the events of the past 
night forced themselves upon his benumbed faculties, and 



The Twms of Table Mountain. 227 

he sat up. The sun was riding high, the door of the cabin 
was open. Stretching himself, he staggered to his feet, 
and looked in through the yawning crack at the hinges. 
He rubbed his eyes again. Was he still asleep, and 
followed by a dream of yesterday ? For there, even in the 
very attitude he remembered to have seen her sitting at 
her luncheon on the previous day, with her knitting on her 
lap, sat Mrs. Sol Saunders ! What did it mean ? or had 
she really been sitting there ever since, and all the events 
that followed only a dream ? 

A hand was laid upon his arm, and turning he saw the 
murky black eyes and Indian-inked beard of Sol beside 
him. That gentleman put his finger on his lips with a 
theatrical gesture, and then slowly retreating in the well- 
known manner of the buried Majesty of Denmark waved 
him, like another Hamlet, to a remoter part of the ledge. 
This reached, he grasped Rand warmly by the hand, shook 
it heartily, and said, " It's all right, my boy ; all right ! " 

"But" began Rand. The hot blood flowed to his 

cheeks, he stammered and stopped short. 

" It's all right, I say ! Don't you mind ! We'll pull you 
through." 

" But, Mrs. Sol ! what does she " 

"Rosey has taken the matter in hand, sir, and when that 
woman takes a matter in hand, whether it's a baby or a 
rehearsal, sir, she makes it buzz." 

"But how did she know?" stammered Rand. 

"How? Well, sir, the scene opened something like 
this," said Sol professionally. "Curtain rises on me and 
Mrs. Sol. Domestic interior — practicable chairs, table, 
books, newspapers. Enter Doctor %ichesne — eccentric 
character part, very popular with the boys ; tells off-hand 
affecting story of strange woman — one 'more unfortunate,' 
having baby in Eagle's Nest — lonely place on * peaks of 



2 28 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

Snowdon,' midnight; eagles screaming, you know, and far 
down unfatliomable depths ; only attendant, cold-blooded 
ruffian, evidently father of child, with sinister designs on 
child and mother." 

"He didn't say that P' said Rand, with an agonised smile. 

" Order ! Sit down in front ! " continued Sol, easily. 
"Mrs. Sol highly interested — a mother herself — demands 
name of place ? ' Table Mountain ! ' No, it cannot be — 
it is! Excitement. Mystery! Rosey rises to occasion — ■ 
comes to front : ' Some one must go ; I — I — will go my- 
self!' Myself, coming to centre: 'Not alone, dearest; 
I — I will accompany you ! ' A shriek at right upper en- 
trance. Enter the Marysville Pet. ' I have heard all. 
'Tis a base calumny. It cannot be he! Randolph! 
Never ! ' ' Dare you accompany us ? ' 'I will ! ' Tableau ! " 

"Is Miss Euphemia — here?" gasped Rand, practical, 
even in his embarrassment. 

" Or-r-rder ! Scene second. Summit of mountain — 
moonlight. Peaks of Snowdon in distance. Right — lonely 
cabin. Enter slowly up defile, Sol, Mrs. Sol, the Pet. 
Advance slowly to cabin. Suppressed shriek from the Pet, 
who rushes to recumbent figure — Left — discovered lying 
beside cabin door. ' 'Tis he ! Hist ! — he sleeps ! ' Throws 
blanket over him and retires up stage — so." Here Sol 
achieved a vile imitation of the Pet's most enchanting stage 
manner. " Mrs. Sol advances — Centre — throws open 
door! Shriek! *'Tis Mornie — the lost found!' The Pet 

advances — * And the father is ? ' ' Not Rand ! ' The 

Pet kneeling, ' Just Heaven, I thank thee ! ' ' No, it 



" Hush ! " said Rand appealingly, looking toward the 
cabin. 

"Hush it is!" said the actor good-naturedly; "But it's 
all right, Mr. Rand — we'll pull you through.'-' 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 229 

Later in the morning, Rand learned that Mornie's ill-fated 
connection with the "Star Variety Troup" had been a 
source of anxiety to Mrs. Sol, and she had reproached her- 
self for the girl's infelicitous debut, 

"But Lord bless you, Mr. Rand," said Sol, "it was all 
in the way of business. She came to us — was fresh and 
new — her chance, looking at it professionally, was as good 
as any amateur's; but, what with her relations here, and 
her bein' known, she didn't take ! We lost money on her ! 
It's natural she should feel a little ugly. We all do when 
we get sorter kicked back onto ourselves, and find we can't 
stand alone. Why, you wouldn't believe it," he continued, 
with a moist twinkle of his black eyes, "but the night I 
lost my little Rosey of diphtheria in Gold Hill, the child 
was down on the bills for a comic song, and I had to drag 
Mrs. Sol on, cut up as she was, and filled up with that much 
of old Bourbon to keep her nerves stiff, so she could do an 
old gag with me to gain time and make up the 'variety.* 
Why, sir, when I came to the front /was ugly ! And when 
one of the boys in the front row sang out, ' Don't expose 
that poor child to the night air, Sol ' — meaning Mrs. Sol, 
I acted ugly. No, sir, it's human nature ; and it was quite 
natural that Mornie, when she caught sight o' Mrs. Sol's 
face last night, should rise up and cuss us both. Lord, if 
she'd only acted like that ! But the old lady got her quiet 
at last, and, as I said before, it's all right, and we'll pull 
her through ! But don't you thank us ; it's a Httle matter 
betwixt us and Mornie. We've got everything fixed, so 
that Mrs. Sol can stay right along. We'll pull Mornie 
through, and get her away from this and her baby too, as 
soon as we can. You won't get mad if I tell you some- 
thing ? " said Sol, with a half-apologetic laugh. " Mrs. Sol 
was rather down on you the other day — hated you on sight, 
and preferred your brother to you; but when she found 



230 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

he'd run off and left you — you don't mind my sayin' it — a 
* mere boy,' to take what oughter be his place, why she just 
wheeled round agin' him. I suppose he got flustered and 
couldn't face the music. Never left a word of explanation? 
Well, it wasn't exactly square — though I tell the old woman 
it's human nature. He might have dropped a hint where 
he was goin'. Well, there, I won't say a word more agin' 
him. I know how you feel ! Hush it is ! " 

It was the firm conviction of the simple-minded Sol that 
no one knew the various natural indications of human 
passion better than himself; perhaps it was one of the 
fallacies of his profession that the expression of all human 
passion was limited to certain conventional signs and 
sounds. Consequently, when Rand coloured violently, 
became confused, stammered, and at last turned hastily 
away, the good-hearted fellow instantly recognised the 
unfailing evidence of modesty and innocence embarrassed 
by recognition. As for Rand, I fear his shame was only 
momentary; confirmed in the belief of his ulterior wisdom 
and virtue, his first embarrassment over, he was not dis- 
pleased with this half-way tribute, and really beUeved that 
the time would come when Mr. Sol should eventually praise 
his sagacity and reservation, and acknowledge that he was 
something more than a mere boy. He, nevertheless, shrank 
from meeting Mornie that morning, and was glad that the 
presence of Mrs. Sol relieved him from that duty. 

The day passed uneventfully. Rand busied himself in 
his usual avocations, and constructed a temporary shelter 
for himself and Sol beside the shaft, besides rudely shaping 
a few necessary articles of furniture for Mrs. Sol. 

" It will be a little spell yet afore Mornie's able to be 
moved," suggested Sol, " and you might as well be com- 
fortable." 

Rand sighed at this prospect, yet presently forgot him- 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 231 

self in the good humour of his companion, whose admira- 
tion for himself he began to patronisingly admit. There 
was no sense of degradation in accepting the friendship of 
this man who had travelled so far, seen so much, and yet, 
as a practical man of the world, Rand felt was so inferior 
to himself. The absence of Miss Euphemia, who had 
early left the mountain, was a source of odd, half-delEinite 
relief. Indeed, when he closed his eyes to rest that night, 
it was with a sense that the reality of his situation was not 
as bad as he had feared. Once only, the figure of his 
brother, haggard, weary and footsore, on his hopeless quest, 
wandering in lonely trails and loneHer settlements, came 
across his fancy; but with it came the greater fear of his 
return, and the pathetic figure was banished. ''And be- 
sides, he's in Sacramento by this time, and like as not for- 
gotten us all," he muttered ; and twining this poppy and 
mandragora around his pillow, he fell asleep. 

His spirits had quite returned the next morning, and 
once or twice he found himself singing while at work in the 
shaft. The fear that Ruth might return to the mountain 
before he could get rid of Mornie, and the slight anxiety 
that had grown upon him to know something of his brother's 
movements, and to be able to govern them as he wished, 
caused him to hit upon the plan of constructing an ingenious 
advertisement to be published in the San Francisco journals, 
wherein the missing Ruth should be advised that news of 
his quest should be communicated to him by " a friend," 
through the same medium, after an interval of two weeks. 
Full of this amiable intention, he returned to the surface to 
dinner. Here, to his momentary confusion, he met Miss 
Euphemia, who, in absence of Sol, was assisting Mrs. Sol 
in the details of the household. 

If the honest frankness with which that young lady 
greeted him was not enough to reUeve his embarrassment, 



232 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

he would have forgotten it in the utterly new and changed 
aspect she presented. Her extravagant walking costume 
of the previous day was replaced by some bright calico, a 
little white apron, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, which 
seemed to Rand, in some odd fashion, to restore her original 
girlish simplicity. The change was certainly not unbe- 
coming to her : if her waist was not as tightly pinched, ^ 
la modcj there still was an honest, youthful plumpness about 
it ; her step was freer for the absence of her high-heel boots ; 
and even the hand she extended to Rand, if not quite so 
small as in her tight gloves, and a little brown from expo- 
sure, was magnetic in its strong, kindly grasp. There was 
perhaps a slight suggestion of the practical Mr. Sol in her 
wholesome presence, and Rand could not help wondering 
if Mrs. Sol had ever been a Gold Hill "pet" before her 
marriage with Mr. Sol. The young girl noticed his curious 
glance. 

" You never saw me in my rehearsal dress before," she 
said, with a laugh; "but I'm not 'company' to-day, and 
didn't put on my best harness to knock round in. I sup- 
pose I look dreadful." 

" I don't think you look bad," said Rand simply. 

" Thank you," said Euphemia, with a laugh and a curtsey. 
" But this isn't getting the dinner." 

As part of that operation evidently was the taking off of 
her hat, the putting up of some thick blonde locks that had 
escaped, and the rolling up of her sleeves over a pair of 
strong rounded arms, Rand lingered near her. All trace 
of the Pet's previous professional coquetry was gone — per- 
haps it was only replaced by a more natural one — but as 
she looked up and caught sight of Rand's interested face, 
she laughed again and coloured a little. Slight as was the 
blush, it was sufficient to kindle a sympathetic fire in Rand's 
own cheeks, which was so utterly unexpected to him that he 



The Twins of Table Motmtazn, 233 

turned on his heel in confusion. '* I reckon she thinks I'm 
soft and silly, like Ruth," he soliloquised, and determining 
not to look at her again, betook himself to a distant and 
contemplative pipe. In vain did Miss Euphemia address 
herself to the ostentatious getting of the dinner in full view 
of him ; in vain did she bring the coffee-pot away from the 
fire, and nearer Rand, with the apparent intention of examin- 
ing its contents in a better light j in vain, while wiping a 
plate, did she, absorbed in the distant prospect, walk to the 
verge of the mountain, and become statuesque and forget- 
ful. The sulky young gentleman took no outward notice 
of her. 

Mrs. Sol's attendance upon Mornie prevented her leaving 
the cabin, and Rand and Miss Euphemia dined in the open 
air alone. The ridiculousness of keeping up a formal 
attitude to his solitary companion caused Rand to relax ; 
but, to his astonishment, the Pet seemed to have become 
correspondingly distant and formal. After a few moments 
of discomfort, Rand, who had eaten little, arose, and " be- 
lieved he would go back to work.'' 

*' Ah yes," said the Pet, with an indifferent air, " I sup- 
pose you must. Well, good-bye, Mr. Pinkney." 

Rand turned. '' You are not going ? " he asked, in some 
uneasiness. 

" Tve got some work to do, too," returned Miss Euphemia, 
a little curtly. 

" But," said the practical Rand, " I thought you allowed 
that you were fixed to stay until to-morrow ? " 

But here Miss Euphemia, with rising colour and slight 
acerbity of voice, was not aware that she was " fixed to stay " 
anywhere, least of all when she was in the way. More than 
that, she must say, although perhaps it made no difference, 
and she ought not to say it — that she was not in the habit 
of intruding upon gentlemen, who plainly gave her to under- 



234 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

stand that her company was not desirable. She did not 
know why she said this — of course it could make no differ- 
ence to anybody who didn't, of course, care ; but she only 
wanted to say that she only came here because her dear 
friend, her adopted mother — and a better woman never 
breathed — had come and had asked her to stay. Of course, 
Mrs. Sol was an intruder herself — Mr. Sol was an intruder 
— they were all intruders : she only wondered that Mr. 
Pinkney had borne with them so long. She knew it was 
an awful thing to be here, taking care of a poor — poor, help- 
less woman ; but perhaps Mr. Rand's brother might forgive 
them if he couldn't. But no matter, she would go — Mr. 
Sol would go — all would go, and then, perhaps, Mr. 
Rand 

She stopped breathless \ she stopped with the corner of 
her apron against her tearful hazel eyes ; she stopped with, 
what was more remarkable than all — Rand's arm actually 
around her waist, and his astonished, alarmed face within 
a few inches of her own. 

" Why, Miss Euphemia, Phemie, my dear girl ! I never 
meant anything like that^^ said Rand earnestly. " I really 
didn't, now ! Come now ! " 

" You never once spoke to me when I sat down," said 
Miss Euphemia, feebly endeavouring to withdraw from 
Rand's grasp. 

" I really didn't ! Oh, come now, look here ! I didn't ! 
Don't ! There's a dear — there 1 " 

This last conclusive exposition was a kiss. Miss Euphemia 
was not quick enough to release herself from his arms. 
He anticipated that act a full half-second, and had dropped 
his own, pale and breathless. 

The girl recovered herself first. " There, I declare, I'm 
forgetting Mrs. Sol's coffee ! " she exclaimed hastily, and 
snatching up the coffee-pot, disappeared. When she 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 235 

returned, Rand was gone. Miss Euphemia busied herself, 
demurely, in clearing up the dishes, with the tail of her eye 
sweeping the horizon of the summit level around her. But 
no Rand appeared. Presently she began to laugh quietly 
to herself. This occurred several times during her occupa- 
tion, which was somewhat prolonged. The result of this 
meditative hilarity was summed up in a somewhat grave 
and thoughtful deduction, as she walked slowly back to 
the cabin, " I do beUeve I'm the first woman that that boy 
.ever kissed." 

Miss Euphemia stayed that day and the next, and Rand 
forgot his embarrassment. By what means, I know not, 
Miss Euphemia managed to restore Rand's confidence in 
himself and in her, and in a little ramble on the mountain 
side, got him to relate, albeit somewhat reluctantly, the 
•particulars of his rescue of Mornie from her dangerous 
position on the broken trail. 

'' And if you hadn't got there as soon as you did, she'd 
have fallen ? " asked the Pet. 

" I reckon," returned Rand gloomily, " she was sorter 
dazed and crazed like." 

" And you saved her life ? " 

"I suppose so, if you put it that way," said Rand 
sulkily. 

*' But how did you get her up the mountain again ? " 

" Oh, I got her up," returned Rand moodily. 

"But how? Really, Mr. Rand, you don't know how 
interesting this is. It's as good as a play," said the Pet, 
with a little excited laugh. 

" Oh, I carried her up ! " 

'* In your arms ? " 

" Y-e-e-s." 

Miss Euphemia paused, and bit off the stalk of a flower, 
made a wry face, and threw it away from her in disgust. 



236 The Twins of Table Moimtain. 

Then she dug a few tiny holes in the earth with her 
parasol, and buried bits of the flower-stalk in them, as if 
they had been tender memories. " I suppose you knew 
Mornie very well ? " she asked. 

"I used to run across her in the woods," responded 
Rand shortly, "a year ago. I didn't know her so well 
then as " He stopped. 

" As what ? as now ? " asked the Pet abruptly. Rand, 
who was colouring over his narrow escape from a topic 
which a delicate kindness of Sol had excluded from their 
intercourse on the mountain, stammered " as you do — I 
meant." 

The Pet tossed her head a little, " Oh, I don't know her 
at all — except through Sol ! " 

Rand stared hard at this. The Pet, who was looking at 
him intently, said, " Show me the place where you saw 
Mornie clinging that night." 

"It's dangerous," suggested Rand. 

*' You mean I'd be afraid ! Try me ! I don't believe 
she was so dreadfully frightened ! " 

" Why .f*" asked Rand, in astonishment 

" Oh, — because " 

Rand sat down in vague wonderment. 

" Show it to me," continued the Pet, " or — I'll find it 
alone I " 

Thus challenged, he rose, and after a few moments' 
climbing stood with her upon the trail. " You see that 
thorn-bush where the rock has fallen away. It was just 
there ! It is not safe" to go farther. No, really ! Miss 
Euphemia ! Please don't ! It's almost certain death ! " 

But the giddy girl had darted past him, and, face to the 
wall of the cliff, was creeping along the dangerous path. 
Rand followed mechanically. Once or twice the trail 
crumbled beneath her feet, but she clung to a projecting 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 237 

root of chapparal, and laughed. She had almost reached 
her elected goal when, slipping, the treacherous chapparal 
she clung to yielded in her grasp, and Rand, with a cry, 
sprung forward. But the next instant she quickly trans- 
ferred her hold to a cleft in the cliff and was safe. Not so 
her companion. The soil beneath him, loosened by the 
impulse of his spring, slipped away ; he was falling with it, 
when she caught him sharply with her disengaged hand, 
and together they scrambled to a more secure footing. 

" I could have reached it alone," said the Pet, " if you'd 
left me alone." 

" Thank Heaven, we're saved," said Rand gravely. 

^^ And without a rope, '^ s^iid Miss Euphemia significantly. 

Rand did not understand her. But as they slowly 
returned to the summit he stammered out the always diffi- 
cult thanks of a man who has been physically helped by 
one of the weaker sex. Miss Euphemia was quick to see 
her error. 

" I might have made you lose your footing by catching at 
you," she said meekly. " But I was so frightened for you, 
and could not help it." 

The superior animal, thoroughly bamboozled, thereupon 
complimented her on her dexterity. 

" Oh, that's nothing," she said, with a sigh. " I used to 
do the flying-trapeze business with papa when I was a child, 
and I've not forgotten it." With this and other confid- 
ences of her early life, in which Rand betrayed consider- 
able interest, they beguiled the tedious ascent. ^' I ought 
to have made you carry me up," said the lady, with a 
little laugh, when they reached the summit ; " but you 
haven't known me as long as you have Mornie — have 
you ? " With this mysterious speech she bade Rand 
" Good-night," and hurried off to the cabin. 

And so a week passed by — the week so dreaded by Rand, 



238 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

yet passed so pleasantly, that at times it seemed as if that 
dread were only a trick of his fancy, or as if the circum- 
stances that surrounded him were different from what he 
beheved them to be. On the seventh day the doctor had 
stayed longer than usual, and Rand, who had been sitting 
with Euphemia on the ledge by the shaft, watching the sun- 
set, had barely time to withdraw his hand from hers as Mrs. 
Sol, a trifle pale and wearied-looking, approached him. 

" I don't like to trouble you," she said — indeed they had 
seldom troubled him with the details of Mornie's convales- 
cence, or even her needs and requirements, — "but the 
doctor is alarmed about Mornie, and she has asked to see 
you. I think you'd better go in and speak to her. You 
know," continued Mrs. Sol delicately, "you haven't been 
in there since the night she was taken sick, and maybe a 
new face might do her good." 

The guilty blood flew to Rand's face as he stammered, 
" I thought I'd be in the way. I didn't believe she cared 
much to see me. Is she worse?" 

"The doctor is looking very anxious," said Mrs. Sol 
simply. 

The blood returned from Rand's face, and settled around 
his heart. He turned very pale. He had consoled him- 
self always for his complicity in Ruth's absence, that he 
was taking good care of Mornie, or — what is considered by 
most selfish natures an equivalent — permitting or encourag- 
ing some one else to " take good care of her," but here was 
a contingency utterly unforeseen. It did not occur to him 
that this " taking good care " of her could result in anything 
but a perfect solution of her troubles, or that there could 
be any future to her condition but one of recovery. But 
what if she should die ? A sudden and helpless sense of 
his responsibility to Ruth — to /^^r— brought him trembling 
to his feet. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 239 

He hurried to the cabin, where Mrs. Sol left him with a 
word of caution. "You'll find her changed and quiet — 
very quiet. If I was you I wouldn't say anything to bring 
back her old self." 

The change which Rand saw was so great, the face that 
was turned to him so quiet, that, with a new fear upon him, 
he would have preferred the savage eyes and reckless mien 
of the old Mornie whom he hated. With his habitual 
impulsiveness he tried to say something that should express 
that fact not unkindly, — but faltered, and awkwardly sank 
into the chair by her bedside. 

" I don't wonder you stare at me now," she said, in a far- 
off voice ; " it seems to you strange to see me lying here 
so quiet. You are thinking how wild I was when I came 
here that night. I must have been crazy, I think. I 
dreamed that I said dreadful things to you ; but you must 
forgive me, and not mind it. I was crazy then." She 
stopped and folded the blanket between her thin fingers. 
"I didn't ask you to come here to tell you that, or to 
remind you of it, but— but when I was crazy, I said so 
many worse, dreadful things of him ; and you — you will be 
left behind to tell him of it." 

Rand was vaguely murmuring something to the effect 
that "he knew she didn't mean anything," that "she 
mustn't think of it again," that "he'd forgotten all about 
it," when she stopped him with a tired gesture. 

" Perhaps I was wrong to think that, after I am gone, 
you would care to tell him anything. Perhaps I'm wrong 
to think of it at all, or to care what he will think of me — 
except for the sake of the child — his child. Rand ! — that I 
must leave behind me. He will know that // never abused 
him. No, God bless its sweet heart ! it never was wild and 
wicked and hateful, like its cruel, crazy mother. And he 
will love it 'y and you, perhaps, will love it too — ^just a little, 



240 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

Rand ! Look at it ! " She tried to raise the helpless 
bundle beside her in her arms, but failed. "You must 
lean over," she said, faintly, to Rand. " It looks Hke him, 
doesn't it?" 

Rand, with wondering, embarrassed eyes, tried to see 
some resemblance in the little blue red oval, to the sad, 
wistful face of his brother, which even then was haunting 
him from some mysterious distance. He kissed the child's 
forehead, but even then so vaguely and perfunctorily, that 
the mother sighed, and drew it closer to her breast. 

"The doctor says," she continued, in a calmer voice, 
" that I'm not doing as well as I ought to. I don't think," 
she faltered, with something of her old bitter laugh, " that 
I'm ever doing as well as I ought to, and perhaps it's not 
strange now that I don't. And he says, that in case any- 
thing happens to me, I ought to look ahead ! I have 
looked ahead ! It's a dark look ahead, Rand — a horror of 
blackness, without kind faces, without the baby, without — 
without hitn ! " 

She turned her face away, and laid it on the bundle by 
her side. It was so quiet in the cabin, that through the 
open door, beyond, the faint rhythmical moan of the pines 
below was distinctly heard. 

" I know it's foolish — but that is what * looking ahead ' 
always meant to me," she said, with a sigh. " But, since 
the doctor has been gone, I've talked to Mrs. Sol, and find 
it's for the best. And I look ahead, and see more clearly. 
I look ahead, and see my disgrace removed far away from 
him and you. I look ahead, and see you and he living to- 
gether, happily, as you did before I came between you. I 
look ahead, and see my past life forgotten, my faults forgiven, 
and I think I see you both loving my baby, and perhaps 
loving me a little for its sake. Thank you. Rand, thank 
you ! " 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 241 

For Rand's hand had caught hers beside the pillow, and 
he was standing over her, whiter than she. Something in 
the pressure of his hand emboldened her to go on, and 
even lent a certain strength to her voice. 

"When it comes to thai, Rand, you'll not let these 
people take the baby away. You'll keep it here with you 
until he comes. And something tells me that he will come 
when I am gone. You'll keep it here in the pure air and 
sunhght of the mountain, and out of those wicked depths 
below ; and when I am gone, and they are gone, and only 
you and Ruth and baby are here, maybe you'll think that 
it came to you in a cloud on the mountain — a cloud that 
lingered only long enough to drop its burden, and faded, 
leaving the sunlight and dew behind. What is it — Rand ? 
What are you looking at ? " 

" I was thinking," said Rand, in a strange altered voice, 
" that I must trouble you to let me take down those duds 
and furbelows that hang on the wall, so that I can get at 
some traps of mine behind them." He took some articles 
from the wall, replaced the dresses of Mrs. Sol, and 
answered Mornie's look of inquiry. " I was only getting 
at my purse and my revolver," he said, showing them. 
" I've got to get some stores at the Ferry, by daylight." 

.Mornie sighed. " I'm giving you great trouble, Rand, I 
know ; but it won't be for long." 

He muttered something, took her hand again, and bade 
her " good-night." When he reached the door he looked 
back. The light was shining full upon her face as she lay 
there with her babe on her breast, bravely "looking 
ahead." 



VOL. V. 



242 The Twins of Table Mountain. 



PART IV. 

THE CLOUDS PASS. 

It was early morning at the Ferry. The " up coach " had 
passed with lights unextinguished, and the " outsides " still 
asleep. The ferryman had gone up to the Ferry Mansion 
House, swinging his lantern, and had found the sleepy- 
looking " all-night " bar-keeper on the point of withdrawing 
for the day on a mattress under the bar. An Indian half- 
breed, porter of the Mansion House, was washing out the 
stains of recent nocturnal dissipation from the bar-room 
and verandah, a few birds were twittering on the cotton 
woods beside the river, a bolder few had alighted upon the 
verandah and were trying to reconcile the existence of so 
much lemon-peel and cigar stumps with their ideas of a 
beneficent Creator. A faint earthy freshness and perfume 
rose along the river banks. Deep shadows still lay upon 
the opposite shore, but in the distance, four miles away, 
morning along the level crest of Table Mountain walked 
with rosy tread. 

The sleepy bar-keeper was that morning doomed to dis- 
appointment. For scarcely had the coach passed, when 
steps were heard upon the verandah, and a weary dusty 
traveller threw his blanket and knapsack to the porter, and 
then dropped into a vacant arm-chair, with his eyes fixed 
on the distant crest of Table Mountain. He remained 
motionless for some time, until the bar-keeper, who 
had already concocted the conventional welcome of the 
Mansion House, appeared with it in a glass, put it upon 
the table, glanced at the stranger, and then, thoroughly 
awake, cried out — 

" Ruth Pinkney — or I'm a Chinaman ! " 

The stranger lifted his eyes wearily. Hollow circles 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 243 

were around their orbits, haggard lines were in his cheeks. 
But it was Ruth. 

He took the glass and drained it at a single draught. 
"Yes," he said absently, "Ruth Pinkney," and fixed his 
eyes again on the distant rosy crest. 

" On your way up home ? " suggested the bar-keeper, 
following the direction of Ruth's eyes. 

" Perhaps." 

" Been upon a pasear — hain't yer ? Been havin' a little 
tear round Sacramento — seein' the sights." 

Ruth smiled bitterly. " Yes." 

The bar-keeper lingered — ostentatiously wiping a glass. 
But Ruth again became abstracted in the mountain, and 
the bar-keeper turned away. 

How pure and clear that summit looked to him ! how 
restful and steadfast with serenity and calm ! how unlike 
his own feverish, dusty, travel-worn self! A week had 
elapsed since he had last looked upon it — a week of dis- 
appointment, of anxious fears, of doubts, of wild imagin- 
ings, of utter helplessness. In his hopeless quest of the 
missing Mornie, he had, in fancy, seen this serene eminence 
haunting his remorseful passion-stricken soul. And now, 
without a clue to guide him to her unknown hiding-place, 
he was back again to face the brother whom he had 
deceived, with only the confession of his own weakness. 
Hard as it was to lose for ever the fierce reproachful 
glances of the woman he loved, it was still harder to a man 
of Ruth's temperament to look again upon the face of the 
brother he feared. A hand laid upon his shoulder startled 
him. It was the bar-keeper. 

" If it's a fair question, Ruth Pinkney, I'd like to ask ye 
how long ye kalkilate to hang around the Ferry to-day ? " 

« Why ? " demanded Ruth haughtily. 

" Because, whatever you've been and done, I want ye to 



244 '^^^ Twins of Table Mottntain, 

have a square show. Ole Nixon has been cavoortin' round 
yer the last two days, swearin' to kill you on sight for 
runnin' off with his darter. Sabe ? Now let me ax ye two 
questions. First — are you heeled ? " 

Ruth responded to this dialectical inquiry affirmatively, 
by putting his hand on his revolver. 

" Good ! Now, Second — have you got the gal along here 
with you ? " 

" No," responded Ruth, in a hollow voice. 

" That's better yet," said the man, without heeding the 
tone of the reply. " A woman — and especially the woman, 
in a row of this kind — handicaps a man awful." He paused 
and took up the empty glass. " Look yer, Ruth Pinkney, 
I'm a square man, and I'll be square with you. So I'll just 
tell you, you've got the demdest odds agin' ye. Pr'aps ye 
know it, and don't keer. Well, the boys around yer are all 
sidin' with the old man Nixon. It's the first time the old 
rip ever had a hand in his favour ; so the boys will see fair 
play for Nixon and agin' you. But I reckon you don't 
mind him ? " 

" So little, I shall never pull trigger on him ! " said Ruth 
gravely. 

The bar-keeper stared, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 
" Well, thar's that Kanaka Joe, who used to be sorter sweet 
on Mornie — he's an ugly devil — he's helpin' the old man !" 

The sad look faded from Ruth's eyes suddenly. A cer- 
tain wild Berserker rage — a taint of the blood, inherited 
from heaven knows what Old-World ancestry, which had 
made the twin brothers' South-western eccentricities re- 
spected in the settlement — glowed in its place. The bar- 
keeper noted it, and augured a lively future for the day's 
festivities. But it faded again; and Ruth, as he rose, 
turned hesitatingly towards him. 

*' Have you seen my brother Rand lately ? " 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 245 

"Nary." 

*' He hasn't been here, or about the Ferry ? " 

"Nary time." 

" You haven't heard," said Ruth, with a faint attempt at 
a smile, " if he's been around here asking after me — sorter 
looking me up, you know ? " 

" Not much," returned the bar-keeper deliberately. 
" Ez far ez I know Rand — that ar brother o' yours — he's 
one of yer high-toned chaps ez doesn't drink, thinks bar- 
rooms is pizen, and ain't the sort to come round yer and 
sling yarns with me." 

Ruth rose j but the hand that he placed upon the table, 
albeit a ppwerful one, trembled so that it was with difficulty 
he resumed his knapsack. When he did so, his bent figure, 
stooping shoulders, and haggard face made him appear 
another man from the one who had sat down. There was 
a slight touch of apologetic deference and humility in his 
manner as he paid his reckoning, and slowly and hesitatingly 
began to descend the steps. 

The bar-keeper looked after him thoughtfully. " Well, 
dog my skin ! " he ejaculated to himself, " ef I hadn't seen 
that man — that same Ruth Pinkney — straddle a friend's body 
in this yer very room, and dare a whole crowd to come on, I'd 
swar that he hadn't any grit in him ! Thar's something up ! " 

But here Ruth reached the last step, and turned again. 

" If you see old man Nixon, say I'm in town ; if you see 

that " (I regret to say that I cannot repeat 

his exact and brief characterisation of the present condition 
and natal antecedents of Kanaka Joe), " say I'm looking 
out for him," and was gone. 

He wandered down the road towards the one long strag- 
gling street of the settlement. The few people who met 
him at that early hour greeted him with a kind of constrained 
civility ; certain cautious souls hurried by without seeing 



246 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

him j all turned and looked after him, and a few followed 
him at a respectful distance. A somewhat notorious prac- 
tical joker, and recognised wag at the Ferry, apparently 
awaited his coming with something of invitation and expec- 
tation, but catching sight of Ruth's haggard face and blaz- 
ing eyes, became instantly practical and by no means jocu- 
lar in his greeting. At the top of the hill, Ruth turned to 
look once more upon the distant mountain, now again a 
mere cloud-line on the horizon. In the firm belief that he 
would never again see the sun rise upon it, he turned aside 
into a hazel thicket, and tearing out a few leaves from his 
pocket-book, wrote two letters — one to Rand and one to 
Mornie j but which, as they were never delivered, shall not 
burden this brief chronicle of that eventful day. For while 
transcribing them, he was startled by the sounds of a dozen 
pistol-shots, in the direction of the hotel he had recently 
quitted. Something in the mere sound provoked the old 
hereditary fighting instinct, and sent him to his feet with a 
bound, and a slight distension of the nostrils and sniffing 
of the air not unknown to certain men who become half 
intoxicated by the smell of powder. He quickly folded his 
letters and addressed them carefully, and taking off his 
knapsack and blanket, methodically arranged them under 
a tree, with the letters on top. Then he examined the lock 
of his revolver, and then, with the step of a man ten years 
younger, leaped into the road. He had scarcely done so 
when he was seized, and by sheer force dragged into a 
blacksmith's shop at the roadside. He turned his savage 
face and drawn weapon upon his assailant, but was surprised 
~ to meet the anxious eyes of the bar-keeper of the Mansion 
House. 

' Don't be a d — d fool," said the man quickly. *' Thar's 
fifty agin' you down thar. But why, in h — 11, didn't you 
wipe out old Nixon when you had such a good chance ? " 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 247 

"Wipe out old Nixon ?" repeated Ruth. 

*' Yes, just now, when you had him covered ! " 

"What!" 

The bar-keeper turned quickly upon Ruth, stared at him, 
and then suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. " Well ! 
I've knowed you two were twins, but damn me if I ever 
thought I'd be sold like this." And he again burst into a 
roar of laughter. 

" What do you mean ? " demanded Ruth savagely. 

" What do I mean ? " returned the bar-keeper, " why, I 
mean this. I mean that your brother, Rand, as you call 
him, he'z bin — for a young feller, and a pious feller — doin' 
about the tallest kind o' fightin' to-day that's been done at 
the Ferry. He's laid out that ar Kanaka Joe and two of 
his chums ! He was pitched into on your quarrel, and he 
took it up for you like a little man ! I managed to drag 
him off, up yer, in the hazel bush for safety, and out you 
pops, and I thought you was him ! He can't be far away. 
Hallo ! There they're comin' ; and thar's the doctor trying 
to keep them back ! " 

A crowd of angry excited faces filled the road suddenly, 
but before them Dr. Duchesne, mounted j and with a pistol 
in his hand, opposed their further progress. 

*' Back, in the bush ! " whispered the bar-keeper. 
" Now's your time ! " 

But Ruth stirred not. " Go you back," he said, in a low 
voice ; *' find Rand, and take him away. I will fill his 
place here." He drew his revolver, and stepped into the 
road. 

A shout, a report, and the spatter of red dust from a 
bullet near his feet, told him he was recognised. He stirred 
not; but another shout, and a cry, "There they are — both 
of 'em ! " made him turn. 

His brother Rand, with a smile on his lip and fire in his 



248 The Twins of Table Mountain, 

eye, stood by his side ! Neither spoke. Then Rand, 
quietly, as of old, slipped his hand into his brother's strong 
palm. Two or three bullets sang by them, a splinter flew 
from the blacksmith's shed, but the brothers, hard gripping 
each other's hands, and looking into each other's faces, with 
a quiet joy, stood there, calm and imperturbable. 

There was a momentary pause. The voice of Dr. 
Duchesne rose above the crowd. 

" Keep back, I say ! Keep back ! Or hear me ! — for 
five years I've worked among you, and mended and patched 
the holes you've drilled through each other's carcasses — 
Keep back, I say ! — Or the next man that pulls trigger, or 
steps forward, will get a hole from me that no surgeon can 
stop ! I'm sick of your bungling ball practice ! Keep 
back ! — or, by the living Jingo, I'll show you where a man's 
vitals are ! " 

There was a burst of laughter from the crowd, and for a 
moment the twins were forgotten in this audacious speech 
and coolly impertinent presence. 

" That's right ! Now let that infernal old hypocritical 
drunkard, Mat Nixon, step to the front." 

The crowd parted right and left, and half pushed, half 
dragged Nixon before him. 

" Gentlemen," said the doctor, " this is the man who has 
just shot at Rand Pinkney for hiding his daughter. Now, 
I tell you, gentlemen, and I tell him, that for the last week 
his daughter, Mornie Nixon, has been under my care as a 
patient, and my protection as a friend. If there's anybody 
to be shot, the job must begin with me ! " 

There was another laugh, and a cry of "Bully for old 
Sawbones !" Ruth started convulsively, and Rand answered 
his look with a confirming pressure of his hand. 

"That isn't all, gentlemen, this drunken brute has just 
shot at a gentleman, whose only offence, to my knowledge, 



The Twins of Table Mountain, 249 

is that he has, for the last week, treated her with a brother's 
kindness, has taken her into his own home, and cared for 
her wants as if she were his own sister." 

Ruth's hand again grasped his brother's. Rand coloured, 
and hung his head. 

" There's more yet, gentlemen. I tell you that that girl, 
Mornie Nixon, has, to my knowledge, been treated like a 
lady, has been cared for as she never was cared for in her 
father's house, and while that father has been proclaiming 
her shame in every bar-room at the Ferry, has had the 
sympathy and care, night and day, of two of the most 
accomplished ladies of the Ferry — Mrs. Sol Saunders, 
gentlemen, and Miss Euphemia ! " 

There was a shout of approbation from the crowd. Nixon 
would have slipped away, but the doctor stopped him. 

" Not yet ! I've one thing more to say. I've to tell 
you, gentlemen, on my professional word of honour, that 
besides being an old hypocrite, this same old Mat Nixon 
is the ungrateful, unnatural grandfather of the first boy born 
in the district ! " 

A wild huzza greeted the doctor's climax. By a common 
consent the crowd turned toward the Twins, who, grasping 
each other's hands, stood apart. The doctor nodded his 
head. The next moment the Twins were surrounded and 
lifted in the arms of the laughing throng, and borne in 
triumph to the bar-room of the Mansion House. 

" Gentlemen," said the bar-keeper, " call for what you 
like : the Mansion House treats to-day in honour of its 
being the first time that Rand Pinkney has been admitted 
to the Bar.'* 

It was agreed that, as her condition was still precarious, 
the news should be broken to her gradually and indirectly. 
The indefatigable Sol had a professional idea, which was 



250 The Twins of Table Mountain. 

not displeasing to the Twins. It being a lovely summer 
afternoon, the couch of Mornie was lifted out on the ledge, 
and she lay there basking in the sunlight, drinking in the 
pure air, and looking bravely ahead in the daylight as she 
had in the darkness — for her couch commanded a view of 
the mountain flank. And lying there she dreamed a 
pleasant dream, and in her dream saw Rand returning up 
the mountain trail. She was half conscious that he had 
good news for her, and when he at last reached her bed- 
side, he began gently and kindly to tell his news. But 
she heard him not, or rather in her dream was most 
occupied with his ways and manners, which seemed unlike 
him, yet inexpressibly sweet and tender. The tears were 
fast coming in her eyes, when he suddenly dropped on his 
knees beside her, threw away Rand's disguising hat and 
coat, and clasped her in his arms. And by that she knew 
it was Ruth ! 

But what they said ; what hurried words of mutual 
explanation and forgiveness passed between them ; what 
bitter yet tender recollections of hidden fears and doubts, 
now for ever chased away in the rain of tears and joyous 
sunshine of that mountain top, were then whispered; what- 
ever of this little chronicle, that to the reader seems strange 
and inconsistent, — as all human records must ever be 
strange and imperfect except to the actors — was then made 
clear, was never divulged by them, and must remain with 
them for ever. The rest of the party had withdrawn and 
they were alone. But when Mornie turned and placed the 
baby in its father's arms, they were so isolated in their 
happiness, that the lower world beneath them might have 
swung and drifted away, and left that mountain top the 
beginning and creation of a better planet. 

"You know all about it now," said Sol, the next day. 



The Twins of Table Mountain. 25: 

explaining the previous episodes of this history to Ruth, 
" you've got the whole plot before you. It dragged a little 
in the second act, for the actors weren't up in their parts. 
But, for an amateur performance, on the whole, it wasn't 
bad." 

" I don't know, I'm sure," said Rand impulsively, " how 
we'd have got on without Euphemia. It's too bad she 
couldn't be here to-day»" 

"She wanted to come," said Sol, "but the gentleman 
she's engaged to came up from Marysville last night." 

" Gentleman — engaged ! " repeated Rand, white and red 
by turns. 

" Well, yes ! I say * gentleman,' although he's in the 
Variety profession. She always said," said Sol quietly, 
looking at Rand, " that she'd never marry out of it." 



{ 252 ) 



3[eff QBrigg0'ie^ lotie @)torg* 

CHAPTER I. 

It was raining and blowing at Eldridge's Crossing. From 
the stately pine trees on the hill-tops, which were dignifiedly 
protesting through their rigid spines upward, to the hys- 
terical willows in the hollow, that had whipped themselves 
into a maudlin fury, there was a general tumult. When the 
wind lulled the rain kept up the distraction, firing long 
volleys across the road, letting loose miniature cataracts 
from the hill-sides to brawl in the ditches, and beating 
down the heavy heads of wild oats on the levels ; when the 
rain ceased for a moment the wind charged over the already 
defeated field, ruffled the gulleys, scattered the spray from 
the roadside pines, and added insult to injury. But both 
wind and rain concentrated their energies in a male- 
volent attempt to utterly disperse and scatter the " Half- 
way House," which seemed to have wholly lost its way, and 
strayed into the open, where, dazed and bewildered, unpre- 
pared and unprotected, it was exposed to the taunting fury 
of the blast. A loose, shambling, disjointed, hastily-built 
structure — representing the worst features of Pioneer renais- 
sance — it rattled its loose window-sashes like chattering 
teeth, banged its ill-hung shutters, and admitted so much 
of the invading storm, that it might have blown up or blown 
down with equal facility. 

Jefterson Briggs, proprietor and landlord of the "Half- 



Jeff B^nggs' s Love Story. 253 

way House," had just gone through the formality of closing 
his house for the night, hanging dangerously out of the 
window in the vain attempt to subdue a rebellious shutter 
that had evidently entered into conspiracy with the invaders, 
and shutting a door as against a sheriff's /^i-i"^, was going to 
bed — i.e.^ to read himself asleep, as was his custom. As he 
entered his little bedroom in the attic with a highly exciting 
novel in his pocket and a kerosene lamp in his hand, the 
wind, lying in wait for him, instantly extinguished his lamp 
and slammed the door behind him. Jefferson Briggs 
relighted the lamp, as if confidentially, in a corner, and 
shielding it in the bosom of his red flannel shirt, which gave 
him the appearance of an illuminated shrine, hung a heavy 
bear-skin across the window, and then carefully deposited 
his lamp upon a chair at his bedside. This done, he kicked 
off his boots, flung them into a corner, and rolling himself 
in a blanket, lay down upon the bed. A habit of early 
rising, bringing with it, presumably, the proverbial accom- 
paniment of health, wisdom, and pecuniary emoluments, 
had also brought with it certain ideas of the effeminacy of 
separate toilettes and the virtue of readiness. 

In a few moments he was deep in a chapter. 

A vague pecking at his door — as of an unseasonable 
woodpecker, finally asserted itself to his consciousness. 
*' Come in," he said, with his eye still on the page. 

The door opened to a gaunt figure, partly composed of 
bed-quilt and partly of plaid shawl. A predominance of the 
latter and a long wisp of iron-gray hair determined her sex. 
She leaned against the post with an air of fatigue, half moral 
and half physical. 

" How ye kin lie thar, abed,- Jeff, and read and smoke on 
sich a night ! The sperrit o' the Lord abroad over the yearth 
— and up stage not gone by yet. Well, well ! it's well thar 
ez some ez catit sleep." 



254 J^ff B'^^M^'^ Love Story, 

" The up coach, like as not, is stopped by high water on 
the North Fork, ten miles away, aunty," responded JefF, 
keeping to the facts. Possibly not recognising the hand of 
a beneficent Creator in the rebellious window shutter, he 
avoided theology. 

" Well," responded the figure, with an air of delivering 
an unheeded and thankless warning, " it is not for me to say. 
P'raps it's all His wisdom that some will keep to their own 
mind. It's well ez some hezn't narves, and kin luxuriate in 
terbacker in the night watches. But He says, ' I'll come 
like a thief in the night ! ' — like a thief in the night, Jeff." 

Totally unable to reconcile this illustration with the de- 
layed " Pioneer " coach and Yuba Bill, its driver, Jeff lay 
silent. In his own way, perhaps, he was uneasy — not to 
say shocked — at his aunt's habitual freedom of scriptural 
quotation, as that good lady herself was with an occasional 
oath from his lips. A fact, by the way, not generally under- 
stood by purveyors of Scripture, licensed and unlicensed. 

" I'd take a pull at them bitters, aunty," said Jeff feebly, 
with his wandering eye still recurring to his page. "They'll 
do ye a power of good in the way o' calmin' yer narves." 

" Ef I was like some folks I wouldn't want bitters — tho* 
made outer the simplest yarbs of the yearth, with jest enough 
sperrit to bring out the vartoos — ez Deacon Stoer's Balm 
'er Gilead is — what yer meaning? Ef I was like some 
folks I could lie thar and smoke in the lap o' idleness — 
with fourteen beds in the house empty, and nary lodger for 
one of 'em. Ef I was that indifferent to havin' invested my 
fortin in the good will o' this house, and not ez much ez a 
single transient lookin' in, I could lie down and take com- 
fort in profane literatoor. But it ain't in me to do it. And 
it wasn't your father's way, Jeff, neither ! " 

As the elder Briggs' way had been to seek surcease from 
such trouble at the gambling table, and eventually, in 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 255 

suicide, Jeff could not deny it. But he did not say that a 
full realisation of his unhappy venture overcame him as he 
closed the blinds of the hotel that night ; and that the half 
desperate idea of abandoning it then and there to the war- 
ring elements that had resented his trespass on Nature, 
seemed to him an act of simple reason and justice. He 
did not say this, for easy-going natures are not apt to 
explain the processes by which their content or resignation 
is reached, and are therefore supposed to have none. 
Keeping to the facts, he simply suggested the weather was 
unfavourable to travellers, and again found his place on the 
page before him. Fixing it with his thumb, he looked up 
resignedly. The figure wearily detached itself from the 
door-post, and Jeff's eyes fell on his book. "You won't 
stop, aunty ? " he asked mechanically, as if reading aloud 
from the page j but she was gone. 

A little ashamed, although much relieved, Jeff fell back 
again to literature, interrupted only by the charging of the 
wind and the heavy volleys of rain. Presently he found 
himself wondering if a certain banging were really a shutter, 
and then, having settled in his mind that it was, he was 
startled by a shout. Another, and in the road before the 
house ! 

Jeff put down his book, and marked the place by turning 
down the leaf, being one of that large class of readers whose 
mental faculties are butter-fingered, and easily slip their 
hold. Then he resumed his boots and was duly capa- 
risoned. He extinguished the kerosene lamp, and braved 
the outer air and strong currents of the hall and stairway in 
the darkness. Lighting two candles in the bar-room, he 
proceeded to unlock the hall door. At the same instant a 
furious blast shook the house, the door yielded slightly and 
impelled a thin, meek-looking stranger violently against Jeff, 
who still struggled with it. 



2 5^ J^ff B'^'^^K^''^ Love Story. 

"An accident has- occurred," began the stranger, "and 
But here the wind charged again, blew open the 



door, pinned Jeff behind it back against the wall, over- 
turned the dripping stranger, and dashing up the staircase, 
slammed every door in the house, ending triumphantly with 
No. 14, and a crash of glass in the window. 

"Come," rouse up!" said Jeff, still struggling with the 
door, " rouse up and lend a hand yer ! " 

Thus abjured, the stranger crept along the wall towards 
Jeff and began again, "We have met with an accident." 
But here another and mightier gust left him speechless, 
covered him with spray of a wildly disorganised water-spout 
that, dangling from the roof, seemed to be playing on the 
front door, drove him into black obscurity and again sand- 
wiched his host between the door and the wall. Then 
there was a lull, and in the midst of it, Yuba Bill, driver of 
the " Pioneer " coach, quietly and coolly, impervious in 
waterproof, walked into the hall, entered the bar-room, 
took a candle, and going behind the bar, selected a bottle, 
critically examined it, and returning, poured out a quantity 
of whisky in a glass and gulped it in a single draught. All 
this while Jeff was closing the door, and the meek-looking 
man was coming into the light again. 

Yuba Bill squared his elbows behind him and rested 
them on the bar, crossed his legs easily and awaited them. 
In reply to Jeff's inquiring but respectful look, he said 
shortly — 

*' Oh, you're thar, are ye ? " 

" Yes, Bill" 

" Well, this yer new-fangled road o' yours is ten feet deep 
in the hollow with back water from the North Fork ! I've 
taken that yar coach inter fower feet of it, and then I reck- 
oned I couldn't hev any more. ' I'll stand on this yer 
hand,' sez I ; I brought the horses up yer and landed 'em 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story, 257 

in your barn to eat their blessed heads off till the Avater 
goes down. That's wot's the matter, old man, and jist 
about wot I kalkilated on from those durned old improve- 
ments o' yours." 

Colouring a little at this new count in the general indict- 
ment against the uselessness of the " Half-way House," Jeff 
asked if there were " any passengers ? " 

Yuba Bill indicated the meek stranger with a jerk of his 
thumb. " And his wife and darter in the coach. They're 
all right and tight, ez if they was in the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 
But I reckon he allows to fetch 'em up yer," added Bill, as 
if he strongly doubted the wisdom of the transfer. 

The meek man, much meeker for the presence of Bill, 
here suggested that such indeed was his wish, and further 
prayed that Jeff would accompany him to the coach to 
assist in bringing them up. " It's rather wet and dark,'* 
said the man apologetically \ " my daughter is not strong. 
Have you such a thing as a waterproof? " 

Jeff had not; but would a bear-skin do ? 

It would. 

Jeff ran, tore- down his extempore window curtain, and 
returned with it. Yuba Bill, who had quietly and disap- 
provingly surveyed the proceeding, here disengaged him- 
self from the bar with evident reluctance. 

" You'll want another man," he said to Jeff, " onless ye can 
carry double. Ez /?<?," indicating the stranger, "ez no sort 
o' use, he'd better stay here and ' tend bar,' while you and 
me fetch the wimmen off. * Specially ez I reckon we've got 
to do some tall wadin' by this time to reach 'em." 

The meek man sat down helplessly in a chair indicated 
by Bill, who at once strode after Jeff. In another moment 
they were both fighting their way, step by step, against the 
storm, in that peculiar, drunken, spasmodic way so amusing 
to the spectator and so exasperating to the performer. It 

VOL. V. R 



25^ J^ff ^^'^Si^'^ Love Story, 

was no time for conversation, even interjection al profanity 
was dangerously exhaustive. 

The coach was scarcely a thousand yards away, but its 
bright lights were reflected in a sheet of dark silent water 
that stretched between it and the two men. Wading and 
splashing they soon reached it, and a guUey where the 
surplus water was pouring into the valley below. " Fower 
feet o' water round her, but can't get any higher. So ye 
see she's all right for a month o' sich weather." Inwardly 
admiring the perspicacity of his companion, Jeff was about 
to open the coach door when Bill interrupted. 

*' I'll pack the old woman, if you'll look arter the darter 
and enny little traps." 

A female face, anxious and elderly, here appeared at the 
window. 

" Thet's my little game," said Bill, sotto voce. 

**Is there any danger? where is my husband?" asked 
the woman impatiently. 

" Ez to the danger, ma'am, — thar ain't any. Yer ez safe 
here ez ye'd be in a Sacramento steamer ; ez to your hus- 
band, he allowed I was to come yer and fetch yer up to the 
hotel. That's his look-out ! " With this cheering speech, 
Bill proceeded to make two or three ineffectual scoops into 
the dark interior, manifestly with the idea of scooping out 
the lady in question. In another instant he had caught her, 
lifted her gently but firmly in his arms, and was turning away. 

"But my child ! — my daughter! she's asleep" — expostu- 
lated the woman j but Bill was already swiftly splashing 
through the darkness. Jeff, left to himself, hastily examined 
the coach : on the back seat a slight small figure, enveloped 
in a shawl, lay motionless. Jeff threw the bear-skin over it 
gently, lifted it on one arm, and gathering a few travelling 
bags and baskets with the other, prepared to follow his 
quickly disappearing leader. A few feet from the coach 



Jeff Briggs s Love Sto7y. 259 

the water appeared to deepen, and the bear-skin to draggle. 
JefF drew the figure up higher, but in vain. 

*' Sis," he said softly. 

No reply. 

" Sis," shaking her gently. 

There was a slight movement within the wrappings. 

" Couldn't ye climb up on my shoulder, honey ? that's a 
good child ! " 

There were one or two spasmodic jerks of the bear-skin, 
and, aided by JefF, the bundle was presently seated on his 
shoulder. 

"Are you all right now, Sis?" 

Something like a laugh came from the bear-skin. Then 
a childish voice said, " Thank you, I think I am ! " 

"Ain't afraid you'll fall off?" 

« A little." 

Jeff hesitated. It was beginning to blow again. 

" You couldn't reach down and put your arm round my 
neck, could ye, honey } " 

" I am afraid not 1 " — although there was a slight attempt 
to do so. 

"No?" 

"No!" 

" Well, then, take a good holt, a firm strong holt, o' my 
hair ! Don't be afraid ! " 

A small hand timidly began to rummage in Jeffs thick 
curls. 

"Take a firm holt; thar, just back o' my neck! That's 
right." 

The little hand closed over half a dozen curls. The 
little figure shook, and giggled. 

" Now don't you see, honey, if I'm keerles with you, and 
don't keep you plumb level up thar, you jist give me a pull 
and fetch me up all standing ! " 



26o J^ff Briggs s Love Story. 

"I see!" 

" Of course you do ! That's because you're a little lady ! " 

Jeff strode on. It was pleasant to feel the soft warm 
fingers in his hair, pleasant to hear the faint childish voice, 
pleasant to draw the feet of the enwrapped figure against his 
broad breast. Altogether he was sorry when they reached 
the dry land and the lee of the " Half-way House/' where a 
slight movement of the figure expressed a wish to dismount. 

"Not yet, missy," said Jeff; "not yet ! You'll get blown 
away, sure ! And then what'll they say ? No, honey ! I'll 
take you right into your papa, just as ye are ! " 

A few steps more and Jeff strode into the hall, made his 
way to the sitting-room, walked to the sofa, and deposited 
his burdert The bear-skin fell back, the shawl fell back, 
and Jeff — fell back too ! For before him lay a small, slight, 
but beautiful and perfectly formed woman. 

He had time to see that the meek man, no longer meek, 
but apparently a stern uncompromising parent, was stand- 
ing at the head of the sofa ; that the elderly and nervous 
female was hovering at the foot, that his aunt, with every 
symptom of religious and moral disapproval of his conduct, 
sat rigidly in one of the rigid chairs~-he had time to see 
all this before the quick, hot blood, flying to his face, sent 
the water into his eyes, and he could see nothing ! 

The cause of all this smiled — a dazzling smile though a 
faint one — that momentarily lit up the austere gloom of the 
room and its occupants. "You must thank this gentleman, 
papa," said she, languidly turning to her father, "for his 
kindness and his trouble. He has carried me here as 
gently and as carefully as if I were a child." Seeing 
symptoms of a return of Jeffs distress in his colouring face, 
she added softly, as if to herself, "It's a great thing to be 
strong — a greater thing to be strong and gentle." 

The voice thrilled through Jeff. But into this dangerous 



I 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 261 

human music twanged the accents of special spiritual revela- 
tion, and called him to himself again. "Be ye wise as 
sarpints, but harmless as duvs," said Jeff's aunt, generally, 
"and let 'em be thankful ez doesn't aboos the stren'th the 
Lord gives 'em, but be allers ready to answer for it at the 
bar o' their Maker." Possibly some suggestion in her 
figure of speech reminded her of Jeff's forgotten duties, so 
she added in the same breath and tone, " especially when 
transient customers is waiting for their licker, and Yuba Bill 
hammerin' on the counter with his glass ; and yer ye stand, 
Jeff, never even takin' up that wet bar-skin — enuff to give 
that young woman her deth." 

Stammering out an incoherent apology, addressed vaguely 
to the occupants of the room, but looking toward the 
languid goddess on the sofa, Jeff seized the bear-skin and 
backed out of the door. Then he flew to his room with it, 
and then returned to the bar-room; but the impatient 
William of Yuba had characteristically helped himself and 
gone off to the stable. Then Jeff stole into the hall and 
halted before the closed door of the sitting-room. A bold 
idea of going in again, as became the landlord of the " Half- 
way House," with an inquiry if they wished anything further, 
had seized him, but the remembrance that he had always 
meekly allowed that duty to devolve upon his aunt, and 
that she would probably resent it with Scriptural authority 
and bring him to shame again, stayed his timid knuckles 
at the door. In this hesitation he stumbled upon his aunt 
coming down the stairs with an armful of blankets and 
pillows, attended by their small Indian servant, staggering 
under a mattress. 

"Is everything all right, aunty?" 

"Ye kin be thankful to the Lord, Jeff Briggs, that this 
didn't happen last week when I was down on my back with 
rheumatiz. But ye'r never grateful." 



262 J^ff ^^^M^^^ Love Stoiy. 

" The young lady — is she comfortable ? " said Jeff, accept- 
ing his aunt's previous remark as confirmatory. 

" Ez well ez enny critter marked by the finger of the 
Lord with gallopin' consumption kin be, I reckon. And 
she, ez oughter be putting off airthly vanities, askin' for a 
lookin'-glass ! x\nd you ! trapsin' through the hall with her 
on yer shoulder, and dancin' and jouncin' her up and down 
ez if it was a ball-room ! " A guilty recollection that he 
had skipped with her through the passage struck him with 
remorse as his aunt went on : '* It's a mercy that betwixt 
you and the wet bar-skin she ain't got her deth ! " 

"Don't ye think, aunty," stammered Jeff, "that — that — 
my bein' the landlord, yer know, it would be the square 
thing — ^just out o' respect, ye know — for me to drop in thar 
and ask 'em if thar's anythin' they wanted ?" 

His aunt stopped, and resignedly put down the pillows. 
"Sarah," she said meekly to the handmaiden, "ye kin leave 
go that mattress. Yer's Mr. Jefferson thinks we ain't good 
enough to make the beds for them two city women folks, 
and he allows he'll do it himself ! " 

"No, no! aunty!" began the horrified Jeff; but failing 
to placate his injured relative, took safety in flight. 

Once safe in his own room his eye fell on the bear-skin. 
It certainly was wet. Perhaps he had been careless — 
perhaps he had imperilled her life ! His cheeks flushed as 
he threw it hastily in the corner. Something fell from it 
to the floor. Jeff picked it up and held it to the light. 
It was a small, a very small, lady's slipper. Holding it 
within the palm of his hand as if it had been some delicate 
flower which the pressure of a finger might crush, he strode 
to the door, but stopped. Should he give it to his aunt? 
Even if she overlooked this evident proof of his careless- 
ness, what would she think of the young lady's? Ought 
he — seductive thought ! — go downstairs again, knock at the 



J(^ff Briggs's Love Sto7y, 263 

door, and give it to its fair owner, with the apology he was 
longing to make ? Then he remembered that he had but 
a few moments before been dismissed the room very much 
as if he were the original proprietor of the skin he had 
taken. Perhaps they were right ; perhaps he was only a 
foolish clumsy animal ! Yet she had thanked hirn — she had 
said in her sweet childlike voice, " It is a great thing to be 
strong ; a greater thing to be strong and gentle." He was 
strong; strongmen had said so. He did not know if he 
was gentle too. Had she meant that, when she turned her 
strangely soft dark eyes upon him? For some moments 
he held the slipper hesitatingly in his hand, then he opened 
his trunk, and disposing various articles around it as if 
it were some fragile, perishable object, laid it carefully 
therein. 

This done, he drew off his boots, and rolHng himself 
in his blanket, lay down upon the bed. He did not open 
his novel — he did not follow up the exciting love episode 
of his favourite hero — so ungrateful is humanity to us poor 
romancers, in the first stages of their real passion. Ah, 
me ! 'tis the jongleurs and troubadours they want then, not 
us ! When Master Slender, sick for sweet Anne Page, 
would " rather than forty shillings " he had his " book of 
songs and sonnets " there, what availed it that the Italian 
Boccacio had contemporaneously discoursed wisely and 
sweetly of love in prose? I doubt not that Master Jeff 
would have mumbled some verse to himself had he known 
any : knowing none, he lay there and listened to the wind. 

Did she hear it ; did it keep her awake ? He had an 
uneasy suspicion that the shutter that was banging so out- 
rageously was the shutter of her room. Filled with this 
miserable thought, he arose softly, stole down the staircase, 
and listened. The sound was repeated. It was truly the 
refractory shutter of No. 7 — the best bedroom adjoining 



264 Jeff Briggss Love Story. 

the sitting-room. The next room, No. 8, was vacant. 
Jeff entered it softly, as softly opened the window, and 
leaning far out in the tempest, essayed to secure the noc- 
turnal disturber. But in vain. Cord or rope he had none, 
nor could he procure either without alarming his aunt — 
an extremity not to be considered. Jeff was a man o 
clumsy but forceful expedients. He hung far out of the 
window, and with one powerful hand, lifted the shutter 
off its hinges and dragged it softly into No. 8. Then as 
softly he crept upstairs to bed. The wind howled and tore 
round the house ; the crazy water-pipe below JefPs window 
creaked, the chimneys whistled, but the shutter banged no 
more. Jeff began to doze. " It's a great thing to be 
strong," the wind seemed to say as it charged upon the 
defenceless house, and then another voice seemed to reply, 
*' A greater thing to be strong and gentle ; " and hearing 
this he fell asleep. 



CHAPTER 11. 

It was not yet daylight when he awoke with an idea that 
brought him hurriedly to his feet. Quickly dressing him- 
self, he began to count the money in his pocket. Appar- 
ently the total was not satisfactory, as he endeavoured to 
augment it by loose coins fished from the pockets of his 
other garments, and from the corner of his washstand 
drawer. Then he cautiously crept downstairs, seized his 
gun, and stole out of the still sleeping house. The wind 
had gone down, the rain had ceased, a few stars shone 
steadily in the north, and the shapeless bulk of the coach, 
its lamps extinguished, loomed high and dry above the 
lessening water, in the twilight. With a swinging tread 
Jeff strode up the hill and was soon upon the highway and 
stage road. A half-hour's brisk, walk brought him to the 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 265 

summit, and the first rosy flashes of morning light. This 
enabled him to knock over half-a dozen early quail, lured 
by the proverb, who were seeking their breakfast in the 
chapparal, and gave him courage to continue on his mis- 
sion, which his perplexed face and irresolute manner had 
for the last few moments shown to be an embarrassing one. 
At last the white fences and imposing outbuildings of the 
" Summit Hotel " rose before him, and he uttered a deep 
sigh. There, basking in the first rays of the morning sun, 
stood his successful rival ! Jeff looked at the well-built, 
comfortable structure, the commanding site, and the air of 
serene independence that seemed to possess it, and no 
longer wondered that the great world passed him by to 
linger and refresh itself there. 

He was relieved to find the landlord was not present in 
person, and so confided his business to the bar-keeper. 
At first it appeared that that functionary declined inter- 
ference, and with many head-shakings and audible misgiv- 
ings, was inclined to await the coming of his principal, but 
a nearer view of Jeff's perplexed face, and an examination 
of Jeffs gun, and the few coins spread before him, finally 
induced him to produce certain articles, which he packed 
in a basket and handed to Jeff, taking the gun and coins 
in exchange. Thus relieved, Jeff set his face homewards, 
and ran a race with the morning into the valley, reaching 
the "Half-way House" as the sun laid waste its bare, bleak 
outlines, and relentlessly pointed out its defects one by 
one. 

It was cruel to Jeff at that moment, but he hugged his 
basket close and slipped to the back door, and the kitchen, 
where his aunt was already at work. 

"I didn't know ye were up yet, aunty," said Jeff sub- 
missively. " It isn't more than six o'clock." 

*' Thar's four more to feed at breakfast," said his aunt 



2^6 J^ff ^'^'^SS^'^ Love Story. 

severely, "and yer's the top blown off the kitchen chimbly, 
and the fire only just got to go." 

Jeff saw that he was in time. The ordinary breakfast 
of the " Half-way House," not yet prepared, consisted of 
codfish, ham, yellow-ochre biscuit, made after a peculiar 
receipt of his aunt's, and potatoes. 

" I got a few fancy fixins up at the Summit this morning, 
aunty," he began apologetically, " seein' we had sick folks, 
you know — you and the young lady — and thinkin' it might 
save you trouble. I've got 'em here," and he shyly pro- 
duced the basket. 

"If ye kin afford it, Jeff," responded his aunt resignedly, 
"I'm thankful." 

The reply was so unexpectedly mild for Aunt Sally, that 
Jeff put his arms around her and kissed her hard cheek. 
"And I've got some quail, aunty, knowin' you liked 'em." 

" I reckoned you was up to some such foolishness," said 
Aunt Sally, wiping her cheek with her apron, "when I 
missed yer gun from the hall." But the allusion was a 
dangerous one, and Jeff slipped away. 

He breakfasted early with Yuba Bill that morning ; the 
latter gentleman's taciturnity being intensified at such 
moments through a long habit of confining himself strictly 
to eating in the limited time allowed his daily repasts, and 
it was not until they had taken the horses from, the stable 
and were harnessing them to the coach that Jeff extracted 
from his companion some facts about his guests. They 
were Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield, eastern tourists, who had been 
to the Sandwich Islands for the benefit of their daughter's 
health, and before returning to New York, intended, under 
the advice of their physician, to further try the effects of 
mountain air at the "Summit Hotel," on the invalid. They 
were apparently rich people, the coach had been engaged 
for them solely — even the mail and express had been sent 



J(^ff Briggss Love Story. 267 

on by a separate conveyance, so that they might be more 
independent. It is hardly necessary to say that this fact 
was by no means palatable to Bill — debarring him not only 
the social contact and attentions of the " Express Agent," 
but the selection of a box-seated passenger who always 
"acted like a man." 

"Ye kin kalkilate what kind of a pardner that 'ar yaller- 
livered Mayfield would make up on that box, partik'ly ez 
I heard before we started that he'd requested the kimpany's 
agent in Sacramento to select a driver ez didn't cuss, smoke, 
or drink. He did, sir, by gum ! " 

"I reckon you were very careful, then. Bill," said 
Jeff. 

" In course," returned Bill, with a perfectly diabolical 
wink. " In course ! You know that ' Blue Grass,' " point- 
ing out a spirited leader; "she's a fair horse ez horses go, 
but she's apt to feel her oats on a down grade, and takes a 
pow'ful deal o' soothin' and explanation afore she buckles 
down to her reg'lar work. Well, sir, I exhorted and laboured 
in a Christian-like way with that mare to that extent that 
I'm cussed if that chap didn't want to get down afore we 
got to the level ! " 

"And the ladies?" asked Jeff, whose laugh — possibly 
from his morning's experience — was not as ready as 
formerly. 

" The ladies ! Ef you mean that 'ar livin' skellington I 
packed up to yer house," said Bill promptly, " it's a pair of 
them in size and colour, and ready for any first-class under- 
taker's team in the kintry. Why, you remember that curve 
on Break Neck hill, where the leaders alius look as if they 
was alongside o' the coach and faced the other way ? Well, 
that woman sticks her skull outer the window, and sez she, 
confidential-like to old yaller-belly, sez she, 'William Henry,' 
sez she, ' tell that man his horses are running away ! ' " 



2^^ J^ff ^'^'^^^^'^ Love Story. 

"•You didn't get to see the — the — daughter, Bill, did 
you?" asked Jeff, whose laugh had become quite un- 
easy. 

" No, I didn't," said Bill, with sudden and inexplicable 
vehemence, " and the less you see of her, Jefferson Briggs, 
the better for you." 

Too confounded and confused by Bill's manner to ques- 
tion further, Jeff remained silent until they drew up at the 
door of the " Half-way House." But here another surprise 
awaited him. Mr. Mayfield, erect and dignified, stood 
upon the front porch as the coach drove up. 

" Driver ! " began Mr. Mayfield. 

There was no reply. 

"Driver," said Mr. Mayfield, slightly weakening under 
Bill's eye, " I shall want you no longer. I have " 

" Is he speaking to me ? " said Bill audibly to Jeff, 
"'cause they call me 'Yuba Bill' yer abouts." 

" He is," said Jeff hastily. 

"Mebbee he's drunk," said Bill audibly; "a drop or 
two afore breakfast sometimes upsets his kind." 

" I was saying. Bill," said Mr. Mayfield, becoming utterly 
limp and weak again under Bill's cold grey eyes, " that I've 
changed my mind, and shall stop here awhile. My daughter 
seems already benefited by the change. You can take my 
traps from the boot and leave them here." 

Bill laid down his lines resignedly, coolly surveyed Mr. 
Mayfield, the house, and the half-pleased, half-frightened 
Jeff, and then proceeded to remove the luggage from the 
boot, all the while whistling loud and offensive incredulity. 
Then he cUmbed back to his box. Mr. Mayfield, com- 
pletely demoralised under this treatment, as a last resort 
essayed patronage. 

"You can say to the Sacramento agents, Bill, that I am 
entirely satisfied, and " 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 269 

*'Ye needn't fear but I'll give ye a good character," 
interrupted Bill coolly, gathering up his lines. The whip 
snapped, the six horses dashed forward as one, the coach 
plunged down the road and was gone. 

With its disappearance, Mr. Mayfield stiffened slightly 
again. "1 have just told your aunt, Mr. Briggs," he said, 
turning upon Jeff, " that my daughter has expressed a desire 
to remain here a few days j she has slept well, seems to be 
invigorated by the air, and although we expected to go on 
to the ' Summit,' Mrs. Mayfield and myself are willing to 
accede to her wishes. Your house seems to be new and 
clean. Your table — ^judging from the breakfast this morn- 
ing — is quite satisfactory." 

Jeff, in the first flush of delight at this news, forgot what 
that breakfast had cost him — forgot all his morning's 
experience, and, I fear, when he did remember it, was too 
full of a vague, hopeful courage to appreciate it. Conscious 
of showing too much pleasure, he affected the necessity of 
an immediate interview with his aunt, in the kitchen. But 
his short cut round the house was arrested by a voice and 
figure. It was Miss Mayfield, wrapped in a- shawl and 
seated in a chair, basking in the sunlight at one of the 
bleakest and barest angles of the house. Jeff stopped in 
a delicious tremor. 

As we are dealing with facts, however, it would be well 
to look at the cause of this tremor with our own eyes and 
not Jeff's. To be plain, my dear madam, as she basked 
in that remorseless, matter-of-fact California sunshine, she 
looked her full age — twenty-five, if a day ! There were 
wrinkles in the corners of her dark eyes, contracted and 
frowning in that strong, merciless light ; there was a nervous 
pallor in her complexion; but being one of those "fast- 
coloured " brunettes, whose dyes are a part of their tempera- 
ment, no sickness nor wear could bleach it out. The red of 



270 J^ff B'^^gS^' ^ Love Story, 

her small mouth was darker than yours, I wot, and there were 
certain faint lines from the corners of her delicate nostrils 
indicating alternate repression and excitement under certain 
experiences, which are not found in the classic ideals. 
Now Jeff knew nothing of the classic ideal — did not know 
that a thousand years ago certain sensual idiots had, with 
brush and chisel, inflicted upon the world the personifica- 
tion of the strongest and most delicate, most controlling 
and most subtle passion that humanity is capable of, in the 
likeness of a thick-waisted, idealess, expressionless, per- 
fectly contented female animal ; and that thousands of 
idiots had since then insisted upon perpetuating this model 
for the benefit of a world that had gone on sighing for, 
pining for, fighting for, and occasionally blowing its brains 
out over types far removed from that idiotic standard. 
Consequently Jeff saw only a face full of possibilities 
and probabilities, framed in a small delicate oval, saw a 
slight woman's form — more than usually small — and heard 
a low voice, to him full of gentle pride, passion, pathos, 
and human weakness, and was helpless. 

" I only said ' good morning,' " said Miss Mayfield, with 
that slight, arch satisfaction in the observation of mascuhne 
bashfulness, which the best of her sex cannot forego. 

" Thank you, miss ; good morning. I've been wanting to 
say to you that I hope you wasn't mad, you know," stam- 
mered JefF, desperately intent upon getting off his apology. 

" It is so lovely this morning — such a change ! " con- 
tinued Miss Mayfield. 

" Yes, miss ! You know I reckoned — at least what your 
father said, made me kalkilate that you " 

Miss Mayfield, still smiling, knitted her brows and went 
on : "I slept so well last night," she said gratefully, '' and 
feel so much better this morning, that I ventured out. I 
seem to be drinking in health in this clear sunHght." 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 271 

" Certainly, miss. As I was sayin', your father says his 
daughter is in the coach ; and Bill says, says he to me, 
* ril pack — I'll carry the old — I'll bring up Mrs. Mayfield, 
if you'll bring up the daughter ; ' and when we come to the 
coach I saw you asleep-like in the corner, and bein' small, 
why, miss, you know how nat'ral it is, I " 

" Oh, Mr. Jeff! Mr. Briggs ! " said Miss Mayfield plain- 
tively, " don't, please — don't spoil the best compliment 
I've had in many a year. You thought I was a child, I 
know, and — well, you find," she said audaciously, suddenly 
bringing her black eyes to bear on him like a rifle, " you 
find— well ? " 

What Jeff thought was inaudible but not invisible.' Miss 
Mayfield saw enough of it in his eye to protest with a faint 
colour in her cheek. Thus does Nature betray itself to 
Nature the world over. 

The colour faded. " It's a dreadful thing to be so weak 
and helpless, and to put everybody to- such trouble, isn't it, 
Mr. Jeff? I beg your pardon — your aunt calls you Jeff." 

" Please call me Jeff," said Jeff, to his own surprise 
rapidly gaining courage. " Everybody calls me that." 

Miss Mayfield smiled. " I suppose I must do what 
everybody does. So it seems that we are to give you the 
trouble of keeping us here until I get better or worse ? " 

" Yes, miss." 

" Therefore I won't detain you now. I only wanted to 
thank you for your gentleness last night, and to assure you 
that the bear-skin did not give me my death." 

She smiled and nodded her small head, and wrapped 
her shawl again closely around her shoulders, and turned 
her eyes upon the mountains, gestures which the now 
quick-minded Jeff interpreted as a gentle dismissal, and 
flew to seek his aunt. 

Here he grew practical. Ready money was needed j 



272 J^ff B^^KS^' ^ Love Story. 

for the " Half-way House " was such a public monument 
of ill-luck, that Jeff had no credit. He must keep up the 
table to the level of that fortunate breakfast — to do which 
he had $i'5o in the till, left by Bill, and 12*50 produced 
by his Aunt Sally from her work-basket. 

" Why not ask Mr. Mayfield to advance ye suthin ? " 
said Aunt Sally. 

The blood flew to Jeff's face. '' Never ! Don't say 
that again, aunty." 

The tone and manner were so unlike Jeff that the old 
lady sat down half frightened, and taking the corners of 
her apron in her hands began to whimper. 

" Thar now, aunty ! I. didn't mean nothin', — only if you 
care to have me about the place any longer, and I reckon 
it's little good I am any way," he added, with a new-found 
bitterness in his tone, "ye'll not ask me to do that." 

"What's gone o' ye, Jeff?" said his aunt lugubriously; 
" ye ain't nat'ral like." 

Jeff laughed. " See here, aunty ; I'm goin' to take your 
advice. You know Rabbit ? " 

" The mare ? " 

*'Yesj I'm going to sell her. The blacksmith offered 
me a hundred dollars for her last week." 

" Ef ye'd done that a month ago, Jeff, ez I wanted ye to, 
instead o' keeping the brute to eat ye out o' house and 
home, ye'd be better off." Aunt Sally never let shp an 
opportunity to '' improve the occasion," but preferred to 
exhort over the prostrate body of the " improved." " Well, 
I hope he mayn't change his mind." 

Jeff smiled at such a suggestion regarding the best horse 
within fifty miles of the "Half-way House." Nevertheless 
he went briskly to the stable, led out and saddled a hand- 
some grey mare, petting her the while, and keeping up a 
running commentary of caressing epithets to which Rabbit 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 273 

responded with a whinny and playful reaches after Jeff's 
red flannel sleeve. Whereat Jeff, having loved the horse 
until it was displaced by another mistress, grew grave and 
suddenly threw his arms around Rabbit's neck, and then 
taking Rabbit's nose, thrust it in the bosom of his shirt 
and held it there silently for a moment. Rabbit becoming 
uneasy, Jeff's mood changed too, and having caparisoned 
himself and charger in true vaquero style, not without a 
little Mexican dandyism as to the set of his doeskin 
trousers, and the tie of his red sash, put a sombrero rakishly 
on his curls and leaped into the saddle. 

Jeff was a fair rider in a country where riding was under- 
stood as a natural instinct, and not as a purely artificial 
habit of horse and rider, consequently he was not perched 
up, jockey fashion, with a knee-grip for his body, and 
a rein-rest for his arms on the beast's mouth, but rode 
with long, loose stirrups, his legs clasping the barrel of his 
horse, his single rein lying loose upon her neck, leaving 
her head free as the wind. After this fashion he had often 
emerged from a cloud of dust on the red mountain road, 
striking admiration into the hearts of the wayfarers and 
coach-passengers, and leaving a trail of pleasant incense 
in the dust behind him. It was therefore with considerable 
confidence in himself, and a Httle human vanity, that he 
dashed round the house, and threw his mare skilfully on 
her haunches exactly a foot before Miss Mayfield — himself 
a resplendent vision of flying riata, crimson scarf, fawn- 
coloured trousers, and jingling silver spurs. 

" Kin I do anythin' for ye, miss, at the Forks ? " 

Miss Mayfield looked up quietly. " I think not," she 
said indifferently, as if the flaming Jeff was a very common 
occurrence. 

Jeff here permitted the mare to bolt fifty yards, caught 
her up sharply, swung her round on her off hind heel, 

VOL. v. s 



2 74 J^ff B^^SS^' ^ Love Story, 

permitted her to paw the air once or twice with her white- 
stockinged fore-feet, and then, with another dash forward, 
pulled her up again just before she apparently took Miss 
Mayfield and her chair in a running leap. 

*' Are you sure, miss ? " asked Jeff, with a flushed face 
and a rather lugubrious voice. 

" Quite so, thank you," she said coldly, looking past 
this centaur to the wooded mountain beyond. 

Jeff, thoroughly crushed, was pacing meekly away when 
a childlike voice stopped him. 

'' If yoii'are going near a carpenter's shop you might get 
a new shutter for my window ; it blew away last night." 

"It did, miss?" 

"Yes," said the shrill voice of Aunt Sally, from the 
doorway, " in course it did ! Ye must be crazy, Jeff, for 
thar it stands in No. 8, whar ye must have put it after ye 
picked it up outside." 

Jeff, conscious that Miss Mayfield's eyes were on his 
suffused face, stammered " that he would attend to it," and 
put spurs to the mare, eager only to escape. 

It was not his only discomfiture ; for the blacksmith, 
seeing Jeffs nervousness and anxiety, was suspicious of 
something wrong, as the world is apt to be, and appeased 
his conscience after the worldly fashion, by driving a hard 
bargain with the doubtful brother in affliction — the morality 
of a horse trade residing always with the seller. Whereby 
Master Jeff received only eighty dollars for horse and outfit 
— worth at least two hundred — and was also mulcted of 
forty dollars, principal and interest for past service of the 
blacksmith. Jeff walked home with forty dollars in his 
pocket — capital to prosecute his honest calling of inn- 
keeper; the blacksmith retired to an adjoining tavern to 
discuss Jeff's affairs, and further reduce his credit. Yet I 
doubt which was the happier — the blacksmith estimating 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 275 

his possible gains, and doubtful of some uncertain sequence 
in his luck, or Jeff, temporarily relieved, boundlessly hope- 
ful, and filled with the vague delights oi a first passion. 
The only discontented brute in the whole transaction was 
poor Rabbit, who, missing certain attentions, became 
indignant, after the manner of her sex, bit a piece out of 
her crib, kicked a hole in her box, and receiving a bad 
character from the blacksriiith, gave a worse one to her 
late masten 

Jeffs purchases were of a temporary and ornamental 
quality, but not always judicious as a permanent invest- 
ment. Overhearing some remark from Miss Mayfield 
concerning the dangerous character of the two-tined steel 
fork, which was part of the table equipage of the " Half- 
way House," he purchased half a dozen of what his aunt 
was pleased to specify as " split spoons," and thereby lost 
his late good standing with her. He not only repaired the 
window-shutter, but tempered the glaring window itself 
with a bit of curtain ; he half carpeted Miss Mayfield's bed- 
room with wild-cat skins and the now historical bear-skin, 
and felt himself overpaid when that young lady, passing the 
soft tabby-skins across her cheek, declared they were 
" lovely." For Miss Mayfield, deprecating slaughter in the 
abstract, accepted its results gratefully, like the rest of her 
sex, and while willing to " let the hart ungalled play," 
nevertheless was able to console herself with its venison. 
The woods, besides yielding aid and comfort of this kind 
to the distressed damsel, ^t^Q fiamhoyant with vivid spring 
blossoms, and Jeff lit up the cold, white walls of her virgin 
cell with demonstrative colour, and made — what his aunt, 
a cleanly soul, whose ideas of that quality were based upon 
the absence of any colour whatever — called " a litter." 

The result of which was to make Miss Mayfield, other- 
wise languid and ennuye, welcome Jeff's presence with a 



2 7^ J^ff -^^^^SS^'^ Love Story. 

smile J to make Jeff, otherwise anxious, eager, and keenly 
attentive, mute and silent in her presence. Two symptoms 
bad for Jeff. 

Meantime Mr. Mayfield's s«iall conventional spirit pined 
for fellowship, only to be found in larger civilisations, and 
sought, under plea of business, a visit to Sacramento, where 
a few of the May field type, still surviving, were to be 
found. 

This was a relief to Jeff, who only through his regard 
for the daughter, was kept from open quarrel with the 
father. He fancied Miss Mayfield felt relieved too, although 
Jeff had noticed that Mayfield had deferred to his daughter 
more often than to his wife — over whom your conventional 
small autocrat is always victorious. It takes the legal 
matrimonial contract to properly develop the first-class 
tyrant, male or female. 

On one of these days Jeff was returning through the 
woods from marketing at the Forks, which, since the sale 
of Rabbit, had become a foot-sore and tedious business. 
He had reached the edge of the forest, and through the 
wider-spaced trees, the bleak sunHt plateau of his house 
was beginning to open out, when he stopped instantly. I 
know not what Jeff had been thinking of, as he trudged 
along, but here, all at once, he was thrilled and possessed 
with the odour of some faint, foreign perfume. He flushed 
a little at first, and then turned pale. Now the woods 
were as full of as delicate, as subtle, as grateful, and, I 
wot, far healthier and purer odours than this ; but this re- 
presented to Jeff the physical contiguity of Miss Mayfield, 
who had the knack — peculiar to some of her sex — of select- 
ing a perfume that ideally identified her. Jeff looked 
around cautiously ; at the foot of a tree hard by lay one 
of her wraps, still redolent of her. Jeff put down the bag 
which, in lieu of a market basket, he was carrying on his 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 277 

shoulder, and with a blushing face hid it behind a tree. It 
contained her dinner ! 

He took a few steps forwards with an assumption of ease 
and unconsciousness. Then he stopped, for not a hundred 
yards distant sat Miss Mayfield on a mossy boulder, her 
cloak hanging from her shoulders, her hands clasped round 
her crossed knees, and one little foot out — an exasperating 
combination of Evangeline and httle Red Riding Hood in 
everything, 1 fear, but credulousness and self-devotion. 
She looked up as he walked towards her {no7i constat that 
the little witch had not already seen him half a mile away !) 
and smiled sweetly as she looked at him. So sweetly, 
indeed, that poor Jeff felt like the hulking wolf of the old 
world fable, and hesitated — as that wolf did not. The 
California 7^z/;2(^ have possibly depreciated. 

"Come here!" she cried, in a small head voice, not 
unlike a bird's twitter. 

Jeff lumbered on clumsily. His high boots had become 
suddenly very heavy. 

" I'm so glad to see you. I've just tired poor mother 
out — I'm always tiring people out — and she's gone back 
to the house to write letters. Sit down, Mr. Jeff, do, 
please I " 

Jeff, feeling uncomfortablely large in Miss Mayfield's 
presence, painfully seated himself on the edge of a very low 
stone, which had the effect of bringing his knees up on a 
level with his chin, and aftected an ease glaringly simu- 
lated. 

*' Or lie down, there, Mr. Jeff — it is so comfortable." 

Jeff, with a dreadful conviction that he was crashing 
down like a falling pine tree, managed at last to acquire a 
recumbent position at a respectful distance from the little 
figure. 

" There, isn't it nice ? " 



2?^ J^ff ■^'^^^^^'^ Love Story, 

"Yes, Miss Mayfield." 

" But, perhaps," said Miss Mayfield, now that she had 
him down, " perhaps you too have got something to do. 
Dear me ! I'm like that naughty boy in the story-book, 
who went round to all the animals, in turn, asking them to 
play with him. He could only find the butterfly who had 
nothing to do. I don't wonder he was disgusted. I hate 
butterflies." 

Love clarifies the intellect ! Jeff, astonished at himself, 
burst out, "Why, look yer, Miss Mayfield, the butterfly 
on'y hez a day or two to — to — to live and — be happy ! " 

Miss Mayfield crossed her knees again, and instantly, 
after the sublime fashion of her sex, scattered his intellect 
by a swift transition from the abstract to the concrete. 
*' ^VityoUre not a butterfly, Mr. Jeff. You're always doing 
something. You've been hunting." 

" No-o ! " said Jeff, scarlet, as he thought of his gun in 
pawn at the " Summit." • 

" But you do hunt ; I know it." 

" How ? " 

** You shot those quail for me the morning after I came. 
I heard you go out — early — very early." 

"Why, you allowed you slept so well that night. Miss 
Mayfield." ' 

" Yes ; but there's a kind of delicious half-sleep that 
sick people have sometimes, when they know and are 
gratefully conscious that other people are doing things for 
them, and it makes them rest all the sweeter." 

There was a dead silence. Jeff, thrilling all over, dared 
not say anything to dispel his delicious dream. Miss 
Mayfield, alarmed at his readiness with the butterfly illustra- 
tion, stopped short. They both looked at the prospect, at 
the distant " Summit Hotel " — a mere snow-drift on the 
mountain — at the clear sunlight on the barren plateau, 



Jeff Briggs' s Love Story, 279 

at the bleak, uncompromising "Half-way House," and — 
said nothing. 

" I ought to be very grateful," at last began Miss May- 
field, in quite another voice, and a suggestion that she was 
now approaching real and profitable conversation, "that 
I'm so much better. This mountain air has been like 
balm to me. I feel I am growing stronger day by day. 
I do not wonder that you are so healthy and so strong as 
you are, Mr. Jeff." 

Jeff, who really did not know before that he was so 
healthy, apologetically admitted the fact. At the same time, 
he was miserably conscious that Miss Mayfield's condition, 
despite her ill health, was very superior to his own. 

" A month ago," she continued reflectively, " my mother 
would never have thought it possible to leave me here 
alone. Perhaps she may be getting worried now." 

Miss Mayfield had calculated over much on Jeff's recum- 
bent position. To her surprise and slight mortification, he 
rose instantly to his feet, and said anxiously — 

" Ef you think so, miss, p'raps I'm keeping you here." 

"Not at all, Mr. Jeff. Your being here is a sufficient 
excuse for my staying," she replied, with the large dignity 
of a small body. 

Jeff, mentally and physically crushed again, came down 
a little heavier than before, and reclined humbly at her 
feet. Second knock-down blow for Miss Mayfield. 

" Come, Mr. Jeff," said the triumphant goddess, in her 
first voice, " tell me something about yourself. How do 
you live here — I mean, what do you do? You ride, of 
course — and very well too, I can tell you ! But you know 
that. And of course that scarf and the silver spurs and 
the whole dashing equipage are not intended entirely for 
yourself. No ! Some young woman is made happy by 
that exhibition, of course. Well, then, there's the riding 



2^o J^ff ^^^iS^'^ Love Story. 

down to see her, and perhaps the riding out with her, and 
— what else ? " 

"Miss Mayfield," said Jeff, suddenly rising above his 
elbow and his grammar, " thar isn't no young woman ! 
Thar isn't another soul except yourself that I've laid eyes 
on, or cared to see since I've been yer. Ef my aunt hez 
been telling ye that — she's — she — she — she — she — lies." 

Absolute, undiluted truth, even of a complimentary 
nature, is confounding to most women. Miss Mayfield 
was no exception to her sex. She first laughed, as she felt 
she ought to, and properly might with any other man than 
Jeff; then she got frightened, and said hurriedly, "No, 
no ! you misunderstand me. Your aunt has said nothing." 
And then she stopped with a pink spot on her cheek-bones. 
First blood for Jeff! 

Now this would never do ; it was worse than the butter- 
flies ! She rose to her full height — four feet eleven and a 
half — and drew her cloak over her shoulders.. " I think I 
will return to the house," she said quietly ; " I suppose I 
ought not to overtask my strength." 

" You'd better let me go with you, miss," said Jeff 
submissively. 

"I will, on one condition," she said, recovering her 
archness, with a little venom in it, I fear. " You were 
going home, too, when I called to you. Now, I do not 
intend to let you leave that bag behind that tree, and then 
have to come back for it, just because you feel obliged to go 
with me. Bring it with you on one arm, and I'll take the 
other, or else — I'll go alone. Don't be alarmed," she added 
rtoftly ; " I'm stronger than I was the first night I came, when 
you carried me and all my worldly goods besides." 

She turned upon him her subtle magnetic eyes, and 
looked at him as she had the first night they met. Jeff 
turned away bewildered, but presently appeared again with 



Jeff Briggss Love Story, 281 

the bag on his shoulder, and her wrap on his arm. As she 
slipped her little hand over his sleeve, he began, apologeti- 
cally and nervously — 

" When I said that about Aunt Sally, miss, I " 

The hand immediately became limp, the grasp con- 
ventional. 

" I was mad, miss," Jeff blundered on, " and I don't see 
\i.Qyi you believed it — knowing everything ez you do." 

" How knowing everything as I do .'' " asked Miss May- 
field coldly. 

" Why, about the quail, and about the bag ! " 

'' Oh," said Miss Mayfield. 

Five minutes later, Yuba Bill nearly ditched his coach 
in his utter amazement at an apparently simple spectacle — 
a tall, good-looking young fellow, in a red shirt and high 
boots, carrying a bag on his back, and beside him, hanging 
confidentially on his arm, a small, slight, pretty girl in a 
red cloak. " Nothing mean about her, eh, Bill ? " said an 
admiring box-passenger. "Young couple, I reckon, just 
out from the States." 

« No ! " roared Bill. 

" Oh, well, his sweetheart, I reckon ? " suggested the 
box-passenger. 

" Nary time ! " growled Bill. " Look yer ! I know 'em 
both, and they knows me. Did ye notiss she never drops 
his arm when she sees the stage comin', but kinder trapes 
along jist the same? Had they been courtin', she'd hev 
dropped his arm like pizen, and walked on t'other side the 
road." 

Nevertheless, for some occult reason. Bill was evidently 
out of humour; and for the next few miles exhorted the 
impenitent Blue Grass horse with considerable fervour. 

Meanwhile this pair, outwardly the picture of pastoral 
conjugality, slowly descended the hill. In that brief time, 



2^2 J^ff Briggis Love Story. 

failing to get at any further facts regarding Jeff's life, or 
perhaps reading the story quite plainly, Miss Mayfield had 
twittered prettily about herself She painted her tropic 
life in the Sandwich Islands — her delicious "laziness," as 
she called it ; " for, you know," she added, " although I 
had the excuse of being an invalid, and of living in the 
laziest climate in the world, and of having money, I think, 
Mr. Jeff, that I'm naturally lazy. Perhaps if I lived here 
long enough, and got well again, I might do something, 
but I don't think I could ever be like your aunt. And 
there she is now, Mr. Jeff, making signs for you to hasten. 
No, don't mind me, but run on ahead j else I shall have 
her blaming me for demorahsing you too. Go; I insist 
upon it ! I can walk the rest of the way alone. Will you 
go? You won't? Then I shall stop here and not stir 
another step forward until you do." 

She stopped, half jestingly, half earnestly, in the middle 
of the road, and emphasised her determination with a nod 
of her head — an action that, however, shook her hat first 
rakishly over one eye, and then on the ground. At which 
Jeff laughed, picked it up, presented it to her, and then ran 
off to the house. 



CHAPTER III. 

His aunt met him angrily on the porch. " Thar ye are at 
last, and yer's a stranger waitin' to see you. He's been 
axin all sorts o' questions about the house and the business, 
and kinder snoopin' round permiskiss. I don't like his 
looks, Jeff, but thet's no reason why_>'^ should be gallivantin' 
round in business hours." 

A large, thick-set man, with a mechanical smile that was 
an overt act of false pretence, was lounging in the bar-room. 
Jeif dimly remembered to have seen him at the last county 



Jeff Bi'iggs's Love Story, 28 



o 



election, distributing tickets at the polls. This gave Jeff a 
slight prejudice against him, but a greater presentiment of 
some vague evil in the air caused him to motion the stranger 
to an empty room in the angle of the house behind the bar- 
room, which was too near the hall through which Miss 
Mayfield must presently pass. 

It was an infelicitous act of precaution, for at that very 
moment Miss Mayfield slowly passed beneath its open 
window, and seeing her chair in the sunny angle, dropped 
into it for rest and possibly meditation. Consequently she 
overheard every word of the following colloquy. 

The Stranger's voice: "Well, now, seein' ez I've been 
waitin' for ye over an hour, off and on, and ez my bizness 
with ye is two words, it strikes me yer puttin' on a little 
too much style in this yer interview, Mr. Jefferson Briggs." 

Jeff's voice (a little husky with restraint): "What is yer 
business ? " 

The Stranger's voice (lazily) : " It's an at-tachment on 
this yer property for principal, interest, and costs — one 
hundred and twelve dollars and seventy-five cents, at the 
suit of Cyrus Parker." 

Jeff's voice (in quick surprise) : " Parker ? Why, I saw 
him only yesterday, and he agreed to wait a spell longer." 

The Stranger's voice : " Mebbee he did ! Mebbee he 
heard afterwards suthin' about the goin's on up yar. 
Mebbee he heard suthin' o' property bein' converted into 
ready cash — sich property ez horses, guns, and sich ! 
Mebbee he heard o' gay and festive doin's — chickin 
every day, fresh eggs, butcher's meat, port wine, and 
sich ! Mebbee he allowed that his chances o' gettin' his 
own honest grub outer his debt was lookin' mighty slim ! 
Mebbee " (louder) " he thought he'd ask the man who 
bought yer horse, and the man you pawned your gun to, 
what was goin' on ! Mebbee he thought he'd like to get a 



284 Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 

holt a suthin' himself, even if it was only some of that yar 
chickin and port wine ! " 

Jeffs voice (earnestly and hastily) : "They're not for me. 
I have a family boarding here, with a sick daughter. You 
don't think " 

The Stranger's voice (lazily) : " I reckon ! I seed you 
and her pre-ambulating down the hill, lockin' arms. A 
good deal o' style, Jeff — fancy ! expensive ! How does 
Aunt Sally take it ? " 

A slight shaking of the floor and window — a dead 
silence. 

The Stranger's voice (very faintly) : " For God's sake, let 
me up ! " 

Jeffs voice (very distinctly) : " Another word ! raise your 
voice above a whisper, and by the living G " 

Silence. 

The Stranger's voice (gasping) : " I — I— promise ! " 

Jeffs voice (low and desperate) : " Get up out of that ! 
Sit down thar ! Now hear me ! I'm not resisting your pro- 
cess. If you had all h — 11 as witnesses you daren't say that. 
I've shut up your foul jaw, and kept it from poisoning the 
air, and thar's no law in CaUforny agin it ! Now listen. 
What ! You will, will you ? " 

Everything quiet ; a bird twittering on the window ledge, 
nothing more. 

The Stranger's voice (very husky) : " I cave ! Gimme 
some whisky." 

Jeff's voice : " When we're through. Now listen ! You 
can take possession of the house ; you can stand behind 
the bar and take every cent that comes in ; you can pre- 
vent anything going out ; but ez long as Mr. Mayfield and 
his family stay here, by the living God — law or no law — I'll 
be boss here, and they shall never know it ! " 

The Stranger's voice (weakly and submissively) : '* That 



Jeff Briggs's Love Stoiy. 285 

sounds square. Anythin' not agin the law and in reason, 
Teff!" 

Jeff's voice : "I mean to be square. Here is all the 
money I have, ten dollars. Take it for any extra trouble 
you may have to satisfy me." 

A pause — the clinking of coin. 

The Stranger's voice (deprecatingly) : "Well! I reckon 
that would be about fair. Consider the trouble " (a weak 
laugh here) "just 7iow. 'Tain't every man ez hez your 
grip. He ! he! Ef ye hadn't took me so suddent like — 
he ! he ! — well ! — how about that ar whisky ? " 

Jeff's voice (coolly) : " I'll bring it." 

Steps, silence, coughing, spitting, and throat-clearing 
from the stranger. 

Steps again and the click of glass. 

The Stranger's voice (submissively) : " In course I must 
go back to the Forks and fetch up my duds. Ye know 
what I mean ! Thar now— don't, Mr. Jeff! " 

Jeff's voice (sternly) : " If I find you go back on 
me" 

The Stranger's voice (hurriedly) : " Thar's my hand on 
it. Ye can count on Jim Dodd." 

Steps again. Silence. A bird lights on the window 
ledge, and peers into the room. All is at rest. 

Jeff and the deputy-sheriff walked through the bar-room 
and out on the porch. Miss Mayfield in an arm-chair 
looked up from her book. * 

" I've written a letter to my father that I'd like to have 
mailed at the Forks this afternoon," she said, looking from 
Jeff to the stranger; "perhaps this gentleman will oblige 
me by taking it, if he's going that way." 

" I'll take it, miss," said Jeff hurriedly. 



286 J^ff Briggs' s Love Story. 

'^ No," said Miss Mayfield archly, " I've taken up too 
much of your time already." 

" I'm at your service, miss," said the stranger, consider- 
ably affected by the spectacle of this pretty girl, who 
certainly at that moment, in her bright eyes and slightly 
pink cheeks, behed the suggestion of ill health. 

" Thank you. Dear me ! " She was rummaging in a 
reticule and in her pockets. *' Oh, Mr. Jeff!" 

"Yes, miss?" 

*' I'm so frightened ! " 

" How, miss ? " 

" I have — yes ! — I have left that letter on the stump in 
the woods, where I was sitting when you came. Would 
you " 

Jeff darted into the house, seized his hat, and stopped. 
He was thinking of the stranger. 

" Could you be so kind ?" 

Jeff looked in her agitated face, cast a meaning glance 
at the stranger, and was off like a shot. 

The fire dropped out of Miss Mayfield's eyes and cheeks. 
She turned towards the stranger. 

"Please step this way." 

She always hated her own childish treble. But just at 
that moment she thought she had put force and dignity 
into it, and was correspondingly satisfied. The deputy- 
sheriff was equally pleased, and came towards the upright 
little figure with open admiration. 

" Your name is Dodd — James Dodd." 

"Yes, miss." 

" You are the deputy-sheriff of the county ! Don't look 
round — there is no one here ! " 

" Well, miss — if you say so — yes ! " 

" My father — Mr. Mayfield — understood so. I regret 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 287 

he is not here. I regret still more I could not have seen 
you before you saw Mr. Briggs, as he wished me to." 

"Yes, miss." 

" My father is a friend of Mr. Briggs, and knows some- 
thing of his affairs. There was a debt to a Mr. Parker " 
(here Miss Mayfield apparently consulted an entry in her 
tablets) " of one hundred and twelve dollars and seventy- 
five cents — am I right ? " 

The deputy, with great respect, " That is the figgers." 

" Which he wished to pay without the knowledge of Mr. 
Briggs, who would not have consented to it." 

The official opened his eyes. " Yes, miss." 

" Well, as Mr. Mayfield is not here, I am here to pay it 
for him. You can take a cheque on Wells, Fargo & Co., 
I suppose ? " 

" Certainly, miss." 

She took a cheque-book and pen and ink from her reti- 
cule, and filled up a cheque. She handed it to him, and 
the pen and ink. "You are to give me a receipt." 

The deputy looked at the matter-of-fact Uttle figure, and 
signed and handed over the receipted bill. 

" My father said Mr. Briggs was not to know this." 

"Certainly not, miss." 

" It was Mr. Briggs' intention to let the judgment take 
its course, and give up the house. You are a man of 
business, Mr. Dodd, and know that this is ridiculous 1 " 

The deputy laughed. " In course, miss." 

" And whatever Mr. Briggs may have proposed to you 
to do, when you go back to the Forks, you are to write 
him a letter, and say that you will simply hold the judg- 
ment without levy." 

" All right, miss," said the deputy, not ill-pleased to 
hold himself in this superior attitude to Jeff. 

" And " 



2^^ J^ff ^'^^ES^^ ^ Love Story, 

*'Yes, miss?" 

She looked steadily at him. " Mr. Briggs told my father 
that he would pay you ten dollars for the privilege of 
staying here." 

'' Yes, miss." 

" And of course thafs not necessary now." 

" No-o, miss." 

A very small white hand — a mere child's hand — was here 
extended, palm uppermost. 

The official, demoralised completely, looked at it a 
moment, then went into his pockets and counted out into 
the palm the coins given by Jeff; they completely filled 
the tiny receptacle. 

Miss Mayfield counted the money gravely, and placed 
it in \-\Qr porte-monnate with a snap. 

Certain qualities affect certain natures. This practical 
business act of the diminutive beauty before him— albeit 
he was just ten dollars out of pocket by it — struck the 
official into helpless admiration. He hesitated. 

"That's all," said Miss Mayfield coolly; "you need not 
wait. The letter was only an excuse to get Mr. Briggs out 
of the way." 

" I understand ye, miss." He hesitated still. " Do 
you reckon to stop in these parts long ? " 

" I don't know." 

" 'Cause ye ought to come down some day to the Forks." 

" Yes." 

"Good morning, miss." 

" Good morning." 

Yet at the corner of the house the rascal turned and 
looked back at the little figure in the sunlight. He had 
just been physically overcome by a younger man — he had 
lost ten dollars — he had a wife and three children. He for- 
got all this. He had been captivate4 by Miss Mayfield ! 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 289 

That practical heroine sat there five minutes. At the 
end of that time Jeff came bounding down the hill, his 
curls damp with perspiration ; his fresh, honest face the 
picture of woe, her woe, for the letter could not be found ! 

" Never mind, Mr. Jeff. I wrote another and gave it 
to him." 

Two tears were standing on her cheeks. Jeff turned 
white. 

" Good God, miss ! " 

"It's nothing. You were right, Mr. Jeff! I ought not 
to have walked down here alone. I'm very, very tired, 
and — so — so miserable." 

What woman could withstand the anguish of that honest 
boyish face? I fear Miss Mayfield could, for she looked 
at him over her handkerchief, and said, " Perhaps you had 
something to say to your friend, and I've sent him off." 

"Nothing," said Jeff hurriedly; and she saw that .all 
his other troubles had vanished at the sight of her weakness. 
She rose tremblingly from her seat. " I think I will go 
in now, but I think — I think — I must ask you to — to — 
carry me ! " 

Oh, lame and impotent conclusion ! 

The next moment Jeff, pale, strong, passionate, but 
tender as a mother, lifted her in his arms and brought her 
into the sitting-room. A simultaneous ejaculation broke 
from Aunt Sally and Mrs. Mayfield — the possible comment 
of posterity on the whole episode. 

" Well, Jeff, I reckoned you'd be up to suthin' like that ! " 

" Well, Jessie ! I knew you couldn't be trusted." 

Mr. James Dodd did not return from the Forks that 
afternoon, to Jeff's vague uneasiness. Towards evening 
a messenger brought a note from him, written on the back 
of a printed legal form, to this effect — 

VOL. V. T 



290 J^ff ^'^^ig^'^ Love Story. 

*' Dear Sir, — Seeing as you Intend to act on the Square 
in regard to that little Mater I have aranged Things so 
that I ant got to stop with you but I'll drop in onct in 
a wile to keep up a show for a Drink — respy yours, 

" J. DODD." 

In this latter suggestion our legal Cerberus exhibited all 
three of his heads at once. One could keep faith with 
Miss Mayfield, one could see her " onct in a wile," and 
one could drink at Jeff's expense. Innocent Jeff saw only 
generosity and kindness in the man he had half-choked, 
and a sense of remorse and shame almost outweighed the 
relief of his absence. " He might hev been ugly," said 
Jeff. He did not know how, in this selfish world, there is 
very little room for gratuitous, active ugliness. 

Miss Mayfield did not leave her room that afternoon. 
The wind was getting up, and it was growing dark when 
Jeff, idly sitting on his porch, hoping for her appearance, 
was quite astounded at the apparition of Yuba Bill as a 
pedestrian, dusty and thirsty, making for his usual refresh- 
ment. Jeff brought out the bottle, but could not refrain 
from mixing his verbal astonishment with the conventional 
cocktail. Bill, partaking of his liquor and becoming once 
more a speaking animal, slowly drew off his heavy, baggy 
driving-gloves. No one had ever seen Bill without them — 
he was currently believed to sleep in them — and when he 
laid them on the counter they still retained the grip of his 
hand, which gave them an entertaining likeness to two 
plethoric and over-fed spiders. 

" Ef I concluded to pass over my lines to a friend and 
take a pasear up yer this evening," said Bill, eyeing Jeif 
sharply, " I don't know ez thar's any law agin it ! Onless 
yer keepin' a private branch o' the Occidental Ho-tel, and 
on'y take in fash'n'ble fammerlies!" 



Jeff Briggss Love Story, 291 

Jeff, with a rising colour, protested against such a 
supposition. 

" Because ef ye are^^ said Bill, lifting his voice, and 
crushing one of the overgrown spiders with his fist, " I've 
got a word or two to say to the son of Joe Briggs of 
Tuolumne. Yes, sir ! Joe Briggs — yer father — ez blew his 
brains out for want of a man ez could stand up and say a 
word to him at the right time." 

" Bill," said Jeff, in a low, resolute tone — that tone 
yielded up only from the smitten chords of despair and 
desperation — " thar's a sick woman in the house. I'll listen 
to anything you've got to say if you'll say it quietly. But 
you must and shall speak low." 

Real men quickly recognise real men the world over ; 
it is only your shams who fence and spar. Bill, taking in 
the voice of the speaker more than his words, dropped 
his own. 

" I said I had a kepple of words to say to ye. Thar isn't 
any time in the last fower months — ever since ye took stock 
in this old shanty, for the matter o' that — that I couldn't 
hev said them to ye. I've knowed all your doin's. I've 
knowed all your debts, 'spesh'ly that ye owe that sneakin' 
hound Parker; and thar isn't a time that I couldn't and 
wouldn't hev chipped in and paid 'em for ye — for your 
father's sake — ef I'd allowed it to be the square thing for 
ye. But I know ye, Jeff. I know what's in your blood. 
I knew your father — alius dreamin', hopin', waitin' ; I 
know you, Jeff, dreamin', hopin', waitin' till the end. And 
I stood by, givin' you a free rein, and let it come ! " 

Jeff buried his face in his hands. 

" It ain't your blame — it's blood ! It ain't a week ago 
ez the kimpany passes me over a hoss. ' Three quarters 
Morgan,' sez they. Sez I, * Wot's the other quarter ? ' Sez 
they, ' A Mexican half-breed.' Well, she was a fair sort of 



292 J^ff -^^^^'^^'^ Love Story. 

hoss. Comin' down Heavytree Hill last trip, we meets 
a drove o' Spanish steers. In course she goes wild directly. 
Blood!" 

Bill raised his glass, softly swirled its contents round and 
round, tasted it, and set it down. 

" The kepple o' words I had to say to ye was this : Git 
up and git ! " 

Something like this had passed through Jeff's mind the day 
before the Mayfields came. Something like it had haunted 
him once or twice since. He turned quickly upon the 
speaker. 

" Ez how ? you sez," said Bill, catching at the look. " I 
drives up yer some night, and you sez to me, ' Bill, hev 
you got two seats over to the Divide for me and aunty — 
out on a pasearJ And I sez, * I happen to hev one inside 
and one on the box with me.' And you hands out yer 
traps and any vallybles ye don't want ter leave, and you 
puts your aunt inside, and gets up on the box with me. 
And you sez to me, ez man to man, ' Bill,' sez you, ' might 
you hev a kepple o' hundred dollars about ye that ye could 
lend a man ez was leaving the county, dead broke?' and 
I sez, ' I've got it, and I know of an op'nin' for such a man 
in the next county.' And you steps into that op'nin', and 
your creditors — 'spesh'ly Parker — slips into this, and in a 
week they offers to settle with ye ten cents on the dollar." 

Jeff started, flushed, trembled, recovered himself, and 
after a moment said, doggedly, "I can't do it, Bill; I 
couldn't." 

" In course," said Bill, putting his hands slowly into his 
pockets, and stretching his legs out — "in course ye can't, 
because of a woman ! " 

Jeff turned upon him like a hunted bear. Both men 
rose, but Bill already had his hand on Jeff's shoulder. 
«• "I reckoned a minute ago there was a sick gal in the 



Jeff Briggss Love Story, 293 

house ! Who's going to make a row now ! Who's going 
to stamp and tear round, eh?" 

Jeff sank back on his chair. 

"I said thar was a woman," continued Bill; "thar alius 
is one ! Let a man be hell-bent or heaven-bent, somewhere 
in his tracks is a woman's feet. I don't say anythin' agin 
this gal, ez a gal. The best on 'em, Jeff, is only guide- 
posts to p'int a fellow on his right road, and only a fool or 
a drunken man holds on to 'em or leans agin 'em. Allowin' 
this gal is all you think she is, how far is your guide-post 
gom' with ye, eh? Is she goin' to leave her father and 
mother for ye? Is she goin' to give up herself and her 
easy ways and her sicknesses for ye? Is she willin' to take 
ye for a perpetooal landlord the rest of her life ? And if 
she is, Jeff, are ye the man to let her? Are ye willin' to 
run on her errands, to fetch her dinners ez ye do ? Thar 
ez men ez does it ; not yer in Californy, but over in the 
States thar's fellows is wilUn' to take that situation. I've 
heard," continued Bill, in a low, mysterious voice, as of 
one describing the habits of the Anthropophagi — " I've 
heard o' fellows ez call themselves men, sellin' of them- 
selves to rich women in that way. I've heard o' rich gals 
buyin' of men for their shape; sometimes — but thet's in 
furrin' kintries — for their pedigree ! I've heard o' fellows 
bein' in that business, and callin' themselves men instead 
o' hosses ! Ye ain't that kind o' man, Jeff. 'Tain't in yer 
blood. Yer father was a fool about women, and in course 
they ruined him, ez they alius do the best men. It's on'y 
the fools and sneaks ez a woman ever makes anythin' out 
of. When ye hear of a man a woman hez made, ye hears 
of a nincompoop ! And when they does produce 'em in 
the way o' nater, they ain't responsible for 'era, and sez 
they're the image o' their fathers ! Ye ain't a man ez is 
goin' to trust yer fate to a woman !" 



2 94 Jeff Briggss Love Story. 

"No," said Jeff darkly. 

"I reckoned not," said Bill, putting his hands in his 
pockets again. "Ye might if ye was one o' them kind o' 
fellows as kem up from 'Frisco with her to Sacramento. 
One o' them kind o' fellows ez could sling poetry and 
French and Latin to her — one of her kind — but ye ain't ! 
No, sir!" 

Unwise WilHam of Yuba ! In any other breast but 
JefPs, that random shot would have awakened the irregular 
auxiliary of love — jealousy ! But Jeff, being at once proud 
and humble, had neither vanity nor conceit, without which 
jealousy is impossible. Yet he winced a little, for he had 
feeling, and then said earnestly — 

" Do you think that opening you spoke of would hold 
for a day or two longer ? " 

"I reckon." 

"Well then, I think I can settle up matters here my 
own way, and go with you, Bill." 

He had risen and yet hesitatingly kept his hand on the 
back of his chair. "Bill!" 

"Jeff!" 

" I want to ask you a question ; speak up, and don't 
mind me, but say the truth." 

Our crafty Ulysses, believing that he was about to be 
entrapped, ensconced himself in his pockets, cocked one 
eye, and said, "Go on, Jeff." 

" Was my father very bad ? " 

Bill took his hands from his pockets. "Thar isn't a 
man ez crawls above his grave ez is worthy to lie in the 
same ground with him ! " 

"Thank you. Bill. Good-night; I'm going to turn 
in!" 

"Lookyar, boy! G — d d — n it all, Jeff! what do ye 



mean t 



;>» 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 295 

There were two tears — twin sisters of those in his sweet 
heart's eyes that afternoon — now standing in Jeffs ! 

Bill caught both his hands in his own. Had they been 
of the Latin race they would have, right honestly, taken 
each other in their arms, and perhaps kissed ! Being 
Anglo-Saxons, they gripped each other's hands hard, and 
one, as above stated, swore ! 

When Jeff ascended to his room that night, he went 
directly to his trunk and took out Miss Mayfield's slipper. 
Alack ! during the day Aunt Sally had " put things to 
rights " in his room, and the trunk had been moved. This 
had somewhat disordered its contents, and Miss Mayfield's 
slipper contained a dozen shot from a broken Eley's car- 
tridge, a few quinine pills, four postage stamps, part of a 
coral earring which Jeff — on the most apocryphal authority 
— fondly believed belonged to his mother, whom he had 
never seen, and a small silver school medal which Jeff had 
once received for " good conduct," much to his own sur- 
prise, but which he still religiously kept as evidence of 
former conventional character. He coloured a little, 
rubbed the medal and earring ruefully on his sleeve, re- 
placed them in his trunk, and then hastily emptied the rest 
of the slipper's contents on the floor. This done, he drew 
off his boots, and gliding noiselessly down the stair, hung 
the slipper on the knob of Miss Mayfield's door, and glided 
back again without detection. 

Rolling himself in his blankets, he lay down on his bed. 
But not to sleep ! Staringly wide awake, he at last felt the 
lulling of the wind that nightly shook his casement, and 
listened while the great, rambling, creaking, disjointed 
"Half-way House" slowly settled itself to repose. He 
thought of many things j of himself, of his past, of his 
future, but chiefly, I fear, of the pale proud face now sleep- 
ing contentedly in the chamber below him. He tossed 



29^ J^ff ^"^^Si^^^ Love Story. 

with many plans and projects, more or less impracticable, 
and then began to doze. Whereat the moon, creeping in 
the window, laid a cold white arm across him, and eventu- 
ally dried a few foolish tears upon his sleeping lashes. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Aunt Sally was making pies in the kitchen the next morn- 
ing when Jeff hesitatingly stole upon her. The moment 
was not a felicitous one. Pie-making was usually an agres- 
sive pursuit with Aunt Sally, entered into severely, and 
prosecuted unto the bitter end. After watching her a few 
moments Jeff came up and placed his arms tenderly around 
her. People very much in love find relief, I am told, in 
this vicarious expression. 

"Aunty." 

" Well, Jeff ! Thar, now— yer gittin' all dough ! " 
Nevertheless, the hard face relaxed a little. Something 
of a smile stole round her mouth, showing what she might 
have been before theology and bitters had supplied the 
natural feminine longings. 

" Aunty dear ! " 

"You boy!" 

It was a boy's face — albeit bearded like the pard, with 
an extra fierceness in the mustachios — that looked upon 
hers. She could not help bestowing a grim floury kiss 
upon it. 

" Well, what is it now ? " 

"I'm thinking, aunty, it's high time you and me packed 
up our traps and ' shook ' this yar shanty, and located 
somewhere else." Jeff's voice was ostentatiously cheerful, 
but his eyes were a little anxious. 

"Whatfor «^w;" 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 297 

Jeff hastily recounted his ill luck, and the various reasons 
— excepting of course the dominant one — for his resolution. 

"And when do you kalkilate to go?" 

" If you'll look arter things here/' hesitated Jeff, " I 
reckon I'd go up along with Bill to-morrow, and look round 
a bit." 

"And how long do you reckon that gal would stay here 
after yar gone ? " 

This was a new and startling idea to Jeff. But in his 
humility he saw nothing in it to flatter his conceit. Rather 
the reverse. He coloured, and then said apologetically — 

" I thought that you and Jinny could get along without 
me. The butcher will pack the provisions over from the 
Fork." 

Laying down her rolling-pin, Aunt Sally turned upon Jeff 
\vith ostentatious deliberation. " Ye ain't," she began slowly, 
" ez taking a man with wimmin ez your father was — that's a 
fact, Jeff Briggs ! They used to say that no woman as he 
went for could get away from him. But ye don't mean to 
say yer think yer not good enough — such as ye are^for this 
snip of an old maid, ez big as a gold dollar, and as yaller?" 

*' Aunty," said Jeff, dropping his boyish manner, and his 
colour as suddenly, " I'd rather ye wouldn't talk that way 
of Miss Mayfield. Ye don't know her ;' and there's times," 
he added, with a sigh, " ez I reckon ye don't quite know 
me either. That young lady, bein' sick, likes to be looked 
after. Any one can do that for her. She don't mind who 
it is. She don't care for me except for that, and," added 
Jeff humbly, " it's quite natural." 

"I didn't say she did," returned Aunt Sally viciously; 
*'but seeing ez you've got an empty house yer on yer hands, 
and me a-slavin' here on jist nothin', if this gal, for the sake 
o' gallivantin' with ye for a spell, chooses to stay here and 
keep her family here, and pay high for it, I don't see why 



29^ J^ff ^'^^gS^^^ Z^z/^ Story. 

it ain't yer duty to Providence and me to take advantage 
of it." 

Jeff raised his eyes to his aunt's face. For the first time 
it struck him that she might be his father's sister and yet 
have no blood in her veins that answered to his. There 
are few shocks more startUng and overpowering to original 
natures than this sudden sense of loneliness. Jeff could 
not speak, but remained looking fiercely at her. 

Aunt Sally misinterpreted his silence, and returned to 
her work on the pies. " The gal ain't no fool," she con- 
tinued, rolling out the crust as if she were laying down 
broad propositions. *' She reckons on it too, ez if it was 
charged in the bill with the board and lodging. Why, 
didn't she say to me, last night, that she kalkilated afore 
she went away to bring up some friends from 'Frisco for a 
few days' visit ? and didn't she say, in that pipin', affected 
v'ice o' hers, ' I oughter make some return for yer kindness 
and yer nephew's kindness. Aunt Sally, by showing people 
that can help you, and keep your house full, how pleasant 
it is up here.' She ain't no fool, with all her faintin's and 
dyin's away ! No, Jeff Briggs. And if she wants to show 
ye off agin them city fellows ez she knows, and ye ain't got 

spunk enough to stand up and show off with her — why" 

she turned her head impatiently, but he was gone. 

If Jeff had ever wavered in his resolution he would have 
been steady enough now. But he had never wavered ; the 
convictions and resolutions of suddenly awakened character 
are seldom moved by expediency. He was eager to taste 
the bitter dregs of his cup at once. He began to pack his 
trunk, and made his preparations for departure. Without 
avoiding Miss Mayfield in this new excitement, he no longer 
felt the need of her presence. He had satisfied his feverish 
anxieties by placing his trunk in the hall beside his open 
door, and was sitting on his bed, wrestling with a faded and 



Jeff Briggis Love Story. 299 

overtasked carpet-bag that would not close and accept his 
hard conditions, when a small voice from the staircase 
thrilled him. He walked to the corridor, and, looking 
down, beheld Miss Mayfield midway on the steps of the 
staircase. 

She had never looked so beautiful before ! Jeff had only 
seen her in those soft en wrappings and half deshabille that 
belong to invalid femininity. Always refined and modest 
thus, in her present walking costume there was added a 
slight touch of coquettish adornment. There was a bright- 
ness of colour in her cheek and eye, partly the result of 
climbing the staircase, partly the result of that audacious 
impulse that had led her — a modest virgin — to seek a gentle- 
man in this personal fashion. Modesty in a young girl has 
a comfortable satisfying charm, recognised easily by all 
humanity ; but he must be a sorry knave or a worse prig who 
is not deliciously thrilled when Modesty puts her charming 
little foot just over the threshold of Propriety. 

"The mountain would not come to Mohammed, so 
Mohammed must come to the mountain," said Miss May- 
field. " Mother is asleep, Aunt Sally is at work in the 
kitchen, and here am I, already dressed for a ramble in this 
bright afternoon sunshine, and no one to go with me. But, 
perhaps, you too are busy } " 

" No, miss. I will be with you in a moment." 

I wish I could say that he went back to calm his pulses, 
which the dangerous music of Miss Mayfield's voice had set 
to throbbing, by a few moments' calm and dispassionate 
reflection. But he only returned to brush his curls out of 
his eyes and ears, and to button over his blue flannel shirt 
a white linen collar, which he thought might better harmon- 
ise with Miss Mayfield's attire. 

She was sitting on the staircase, poking her parasol 
through the balusters. "You need not have taken that 



300 J^ff ^'^'^SS^' ^ Love Story. 

trouble, Mr. Jeff," she said pleasantly. " You are a part of 
this mountain picture at all times ; but / am obliged to 
think of dress." 

" It was no trouble, miss." 

Something in the tone of his voice made her look in his 
face as she rose. It was a trifle paler, and a little older. 
The result, doubtless, thought Miss Mayfield, of his yester- 
day's experience with the deputy-sheriff. Such was her 
rapid deduction. Nevertheless, after the fashion of her 
sex, she immediately began to argue from quite another 
hypothesis. 

" You are angry with me, Mr. Jeff." 

"What, I— Miss Mayfield?" 

"Yes, you!" 

"Miss Mayfield!" 

" Oh yes, you are. Don't deny it ! " 

" Upon my soul " 

" Yes ! You give me punishments and — penances ! " 

Jeff opened his blue eyes on his tormentor. Could Aunt 
Sally have been saying anything ? 

" If anybody. Miss Mayfield " he began. 

" Nobody but you. Look here ! " 

She extended her little hand with a smile. In the centre 
of her palm lay four shining double B shot. 

" There ! I found those in my slipper this morning ! " 

Jeff was speechless. 

" Of coMx%^ you did it ! Of course it ^d.^ you who found 
my slipper ! " said Miss Mayfield, laughing. " But why did 
you put shot in it, Mr. Jeff? In some Catholic countries, 
when people have done wrong, the priests make them do 
penance by walking with peas in their shoes ! What have 
I ever done to you ? And why shot ? They're ever so 
much harder than peas." 

Seeing only the mischievous laughing face before him, 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 301 

and the open palm containing the damning evidence of the 
broken Eley's cartridge, Jeff stammered out the truth. 

" I found the sHpper in the bear-skin, Miss Mayfield. I 
put it in my trunk to keep, thinking yer wouldn't miss it, 
and it's being a kind of remembrance after you're gone away 
— of— of the night you came here. Somebody mo^ed the 
trunk in my room," and he hung his head here. " The 
things inside all got mixed up." 

" And that made you change your mind about keeping 
it ? " said Miss Mayfield, still smiling. 

*' No, miss." 

" What was it, then ? " 

" I gave it back to you. Miss Mayfield, because / was 
going away." 

"Indeed! Where?" 

" I'm going to find another location. Maybe you've 
noticed," he continued, falling back into his old apologetic 
manner in spite of his pride of resolution — " maybe you've 
noticed that this place here has no advantages for a hotel." 

*' I had not, indeed. I have been very comfortable." 

" Thank you, miss." 

"When do you go?" 

" To-night." 

For all his pride and fixed purpose he could not help 
looking eagerly in her face. Miss Mayfield's eyes met his 
pleasantly and quietly. 

" I'm sorry to part with you so soon," she said, as. she 
stepped back a pace or two with folded hands. " Of course 
every moment of your time now is occupied. You must 
not think of wasting it on me." 

But Jeff had recovered his sad composure. " I'd like to 
go with you, Miss Mayfield. It's the last time, you know," 
he added simply. 

Miss Mayfield did not reply. It was a tacit assent, how- 



302 Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 

ever, although she moved somewhat stiffly at his side as 
they walked towards the door. Quite convinced that Jeff's 
resolution came from his pecuniary troubles, Miss Mayfield 
was wondering if she had not better assure him of his 
security from further annoyance from Dodd. Wonderful 
complexity of female intellect ! she was a little hurt at his 
ingratitude to her for a kindness he could not possibly have 
known. Miss Mayfield felt that in some way she was un- 
justly treated. How many of our miserable sex, incapable 
of divination, have been crushed under that unreasonable 
feminine reproof — " You ought to have known ! " 

The afternoon sun was indeed shining brightly as they 
stepped out before the bleak angle of the " Half-way 
House j " but it failed to mitigate the habitually practical 
austerity of the mountain breeze — a fact which Miss May- 
field had never before noticed. The house was certainly 
bleak and exposed ; the site by no means a poetical one. 
She wondered if she had not put a romance into it, and 
perhaps even into the man beside her, which did not belong 
to either. It was a moment of dangerous doubt. 

'* I don't know but that you're right, Mr. Jeff," she said 
finally, as they faced the hill, and began the ascent together. 
" This place is a little queer, and bleak, and — unattractive.'* 

"Yes, miss," said Jeff, with direct simplicity, "I've 
always wondered what you saw in it to make you content 
to stay, when it would be so much prettier, and more suit- 
able for you at the * Summit.' " 

Miss Mayfield bit her lip, and was silent. After a few 
moments' climbing she said, almost pettishly, " Where is 
this famous ' Summit ' ? " 

Jeff stopped. They had reached the top of the hill. He 
pointed across an olive-green chasm to a higher level, 
where, basking in the declining sun, clustered the long 
rambling outbuildings around the white blinking fagade of 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 303 

the "Summit House." Framed in pines and hemlocks, 
tender with soft grey shadows, and nestUng beyond a fore 
ground of cultivated slope, it was a charming rustic picture. 

Miss Mayfield's quick eye took in its details. Her quick 
intellect took in something else. She had seated herself 
on the road-bank, and clasping her knees between her 
locked fingers, she suddenly looked up at Jeff. *' What 
possessed you to come half-way up a mountain, instead of 
going on to the top ? " 

" Poverty, miss ! " 

Miss Mayfield flushed a little at this practical direct 
answer to her half-figurative question. However, she began 
to think that moral Alpine-climbing youth might have 
pecuniary restrictions in their high ambitions, and that the 
hero of " Excelsior " might have succumbed to more power- 
ful opposition than the wisdom of Age or the blandishments 
of Beauty. 

*' You mean that property up there is more expensive?" 

*' Yes, miss." 

" But you would like to live there ? " 

" Yes." 

They were both silent. Miss Mayfield glanced at Jeff 
under the corners of her lashes. He was leaning against a 
tree, absorbed in thought. Accustomed to look upon him 
as a pleasing picturesque object, quite fresh, original, and 
characteristic, she was somewhat disturbed to find that to- 
day he presented certain other qualities which clearly did 
not agree with her preconceived ideas of his condition. 
He had abandoned his usual large top-boots for low shoes, 
and she could not help noticing that his feet were small 
and slender, as were his hands, albeit browned by ex- 
posure. His ruddy colour was gone too, and his face, pale 
with sorrow and experience, had a new expression. His 
buttoned-up coat and white collar, so unlike his usual self, 



304 J^ff B^^^i^'^ Love Story. 

also had its suggestions — which Miss Mayfield was at first 
inclined to resent. Women are quick to notice and augur 
more or less wisely from these small details. Nevertheless, 
she began in quite another tone. 

'' Do you remember your mother — Mr. — Mr. — BriggsV^ 

JefF noticed the new epithet. " No, miss ; she died when 
I was quite young." 

'' Your father, then ? " 

Jeff's eye kindled a little, aggressively. " I remember 

" What was he ? " 

"Miss Mayfield !" 

** What was his business or profession ? " 

« He— hadn't— any ! " 

*' Oh, I see — a gentleman of property." 

Jeff hesitated, looked at Miss Mayfield hurriedly, coloured, 
and did not reply. 

''And lost his property, Mr. Briggs?" 

With one of those rare impulses of an overtasked gentle 
nature, Jeff turned upon her almost savagely. " My father 
was a gambler, and shot himself at a gambling table." 

Miss Mayfield rose hurriedly. " I — I — beg your pardon, 
Mr. Jeff." 

Jeff was silent. 

" You know — you 7m^s^ know — that I did not mean " 

No reply. 

"Mr. Jeff!" 

Her little hand fluttered towards him, and lit upon his 
sleeve, where it was suddenly captured and pressed passion- 
ately to his lips. 

" I did not mean to be thoughtless or unkind," said Miss 
Mayfield, discreetly keeping to the point, and trying weakly 
to disengage her hand. " You know I wouldn't hurt your 
feelings." , 



Jeff Briggs' s Love Story. 305 

" I know, Miss Mayfield." (Another kiss.) 

" I was ignorant of your history." 

" Yes, miss." (A kiss.) 

"And if I could do anything for you, Mr. Jeff" 

She stopped. 

It was a very trying position. Being small, she was 
drawn after her hand quite up to Jeff's shoulder, while he, 
assenting in monosyllables, was parting the fingers, and 
kissing them separately. Reasonable discourse in this 
attitude was out of the question. She had recourse to 
strategy. 

" Oh ! " 

'' Miss Mayfield ! " 

" You hurt my hand." 

Jeff dropped it instantly. Miss Mayfield put it in the 
pocket of her sacque for security. Besides, it had been so 
bekissed that it seemed unpleasantly conscious. 

" I wish you 'would tell me all about yourself," she went 
on, with a certain charming feminine submission of manner 
quite unlike her ordinary speech ; " I should like to help 
you. Perhaps I can. You know I am quite independent; 
I mean " 

She paused, for Jeff's face betrayed no signs of sympa- 
thetic following. 

" I mean I am what people call rich in my own right. 
I can do as I please with my own. If any of your trouble, 
Mr. Jeff, arises from want of money, or capital; if any 
consid'eration of that kind takes you away from your home ; 
if I could save you that trouble, and find for you — perhaps 
a little nearer — that which you are seeking, I would be so 
glad to do it. You will find the world very wide, and very 
cold, Mr. Jeff," she continued, with a certain air of practical 
superiority quite natural to her, but explicable to her friends 
and acquaintances only as the consciousness of pecuniary 

VOL. v. u 



30^ J^ff ^^^iS^^ ^ Love Story. 

independence ; "and I wish you would be frank with me. 
Although I am a woman, I know something of business." 

" I will be frank with you, miss," said Jeff, turning a 
colourless face upon her. " If you was ez rich as the Bank 
of California, and could throw your money on any fancy or 
whim that struck you at the moment ; if you felt you could 
buy up any man and woman in California that was willing 
to be bought up ; and if me and my aunt were starving in 
the road, we wouldn't touch the money that we hadn't 
earned fairly, and didn't belong to us. No, miss, I ain't 
that sort o' man ! " 

How much of this speech, in its brusqueness and slang, 
was an echo of Yuba Bill's teaching, how much of it was a 
part of Jeff's inward weakness, I cannot say. He saw Miss 
Mayfield recoil from him. It added to his bitterness that 
his thought, for the first time voiced, appeared to him by 
no means as effective or powerful as he had imagined it 
would be, but he could not recede from it ; and there was 
the relief that the worst had come, and was over now. 

Miss Mayfield took her hand out of her pocket. "I 
don't think you quite understand me, Mr. Jeff," she said 
quietly ; " and I hope I don't understand you." She walked 
stiffly at his side for a few moments, but finally took the 
other side of the road. They had both turned, half uncon- 
sciously, back again to the " Half-way House." 

Jeff felt, like all quarrel-seekers, righteous or unrighteous, 
the full burden of the fight. If he could have reUeved his 
mind, and at the next moment leaped upon Yuba Bill's 
coach, and so passed away — without a further word of 
explanation — all would have been well. But to walk back 
with this girl, whom he had just shaken off, and who must 
now thoroughly hate him, was something he had not pre- 
conceived, in that delightful forecast of the imagination, 
when we determine what w^ shall say and do without the 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 307 

least consideration of what may be said or done to us in 
return. No quarrel proceeds exactly as we expect ; people 
have such a way of behaving illogically ! And here was 
Miss Mayfield, who was clearly derelict, and who should 
have acted under that conviction, walking along on the 
other side of the road, trailing the splendour of her parasol 
in the dust like an offended goddess. 

They had almost reached the house. *' At what time do 
you go, Mr, Briggs ? " asked the young lady quietly. 

" At eleven to-night, by the up stage." 

" I expect some friends by that stage — coming with my 
father." 

" My aunt will take good care of them," said Jeff, a 
little bitterly. 

** I have no doubt," responded Miss Mayfield gravely ; 
" but I was not thinking of that. I had hoped to introduce 
them to you to-morrow. But I shall not be up so late to- 
night. And I had better say good-bye to you now." 

She extended the unkissed hand. Jeff took it, but 
presently let the limp fingers fall through his own. 

" I wish you good fortune, Mr. Briggs." 

She made a grave little bow, and vanished into the 
house. But here, I regret to say, her lady-like calm also 
vanished. She upbraided her mother peevishly for oblig- 
ing her to seek the escort of Mr. Briggs in her necessary 
exercise, and flung herself with an injured air upon the 
sofa. 

"But I thought you liked this Mr. Briggs. He seems 
an accommodating sort of person." 

" Very accommodating. Going away just as we are 
expecting company ! " 

" Going away ? " said Mrs. Mayfield in alarm. " Surely 
he must be told that we expect some preparation for our 
friends ? " 



3oS J^ff ^'^'^^^^'^ Love Story. 

**0h," said Miss Mayfield quickly, "his aunt will 
arrange thaV 

Mrs. Mayfield, habitually mystified at her daughter's 
moods, said no more. She, however, fulfilled her duty 
conscientiously by rising, throwing a wrap over the young 
girl, tucking it in at her feet, and having, as it were, drawn 
a charitable veil over her pecuHarities, left her alone. 

At half-past ten the coach dashed up to the " Half-way 
House," with a flash of lights and a burst of cheery voices. 
Jeff, coming upon the porch, was met by Mr. Mayfield, 
accompanying a lady and two gentlemen; evidently the' 
guests alluded to by his daughter. Accustomed as Jeff 
had become to Mr. Mayfield's patronising superiority, it 
seemed unbearable now, and the easy indifference of the 
guests to his own presence touched him with a new bitter- 
ness. Here were her friends, who were to take his place i 
It was a relief to grasp Yuba Bill's large hand and stand 
with him alone beside the bar. 

" I'm ready to go with you to-night, Bill," said Jeff, after 
a pause. 

Bill put down his glass — a sign of absorbing interest. 

*' And these yar strangers I fetched ? " 

" Aunty will take care of them. I've fixed everything." 

Bill laid both his powerful hands on Jeffs shoulders, 
backed him against the wall, and surveyed him with great 
gravity. 

" Briggs's son clar through ! A little off colour, but the 
grit all thar ! Bully for you, Jeff." He wrung Jeff's hand 
between his own. 

*' Bill ! " said Jeff hesitatingly. 

"Jeff!" 

"You wouldn't mind my getting up on the box now, 
before all the folks get round ? " 

" I reckon not. Thar's the box-seat all ready for ye." 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 309 

Climbing to his high perch, Jeff, indistinguishable in the 
darkness, looked out upon the porch and the moving 
figures of the passengers, on Bill growling out his orders 
to his active hostler, and on the twinkling lights of the 
hotel windows. In the mystery of the night and the bitter- 
ness of his heart, everything looked strange. There was a 
light in Miss Mayfield's room, but the curtains were drawn. 
Once he thought they moved, but then, fearful of the 
fascination of watching them, he turned his face resolutely 
away. 

Then, to his relief, the hour came ; the passengers re- 
entered the coach ; Bill had mounted the box, and was 
slowly gathering his reins, when a shrill voice rose from 
the porch. 

"OH, Jeff!" 

Jeff leaned an anxious face out over the coach lamps. 

It was Aunt Sally, breathless and on tiptoe, reaching 
with a letter. *' Suthin' you forgot ! " Then, in a hoarse 
stage whisper, perfectly audible to every one : " From 
her!'' 

Jeff seized the letter with a burning face. The whip 
snapped, and the stage plunged forward into the darkness. 
Presently Yuba Bill reached down, coolly detached one of 
the coach lamps, and handed it to Jeff without a word. 

Jeff tore open the envelope. It contained Cyrus Parker's 
bill receipted, and the writ. Another small enclosure 
contained ten dollars, and a few lines written in pencil in a 
large masculine business hand. By the light of the lamp 
Jeff read as follows : — 

" I hope you will forgive me for having tried to help you 
even in this accidental way, before I knew how strong were 
your objections to help from me. Nobody knows this but 
myself Even Mr. Dodd thinks my father advanced the 



3^0 J^ff ^^^gg^'^ Love Story. 

money. The ten dollars the rascal would have kept, but I 
made him disgorge it. I did it all while you were looking 
for the letter in the woods. Pray forget all about it, and 
any pain you may have had from 

'7. M." 

Frank and practical as this letter appeared to be, and, 
doubtless, as it was intended to be by its writer, the reader 
will not fail to notice that Miss Mayfield said nothing of 
having overheard Jeff's quarrel with the deputy, and left him 
to infer that that functionary had betrayed him. It was 
simply one of those unpleasant details not affecting the 
result, usually overlooked in feminine ethics. 

For a moment Jeff sat pale and dumb, crushed under the 
ruins of his pride and self-love. For a moment he hated 
Miss Mayfield, small and triumphant ! How she must 
have inwardly laughed at his speech that morning ! With 
what refined cruelty she had saved this evidence of his 
humiliation, to work her vengeance on him now. He 
could not stand it ! He could not live under it ! He 
would go back and sell the house — his clothes — everything 
— to pay this wicked, heartless, cruel girl, that was killing 
— yes, killing 

A strong hand took the swinging lantern from his un- 
steady fingers, a strong hand possessed itself of the papers 
and Miss Mayfield's note, a strong arm was drawn around 
him — for his figure was swaying to and fro, his head was 
giddy, and his hat had fallen off — and a strong voice, albeit 
a little husky, whispered in his ear — 

" Easy, boy ! easy on the down grade. It'll be all one 
in a minit." 

Jeff tried to comprehend him, but his brain was whir- 
ling. 

"Pull yourself together, Jeff!" said Bill, after a pause. 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 311 

" Thar ! Look yar ! " he said suddenly. " Do you think 
you can df'ive six ? " 

The words recalled Jeff to his senses. Bill laid the six 
reins in his hands. A sense of life, of activity, of power, 
came back to the young man, as his, fingers closed deli- 
ciously on the far-reaching, thrilling, living leathern sinews 
that controlled the six horses, and seemed to be instinct and 
magnetic with their bounding life. Jeff, leaning back 
against them, felt the strong youthful tide rush back to his 
heart, and was himself again. Bill meantime took the lamp, 
examined the papers, and read Miss Mayfield's note. A 
grim smile stole over his face. After a pause, he said again, 
*' Give Blue Grass her head, Jeff. D — n it, she ain't Miss 
Mayfield ! " 

Jeff relaxed the muscles of his wrists, so as to throw the 
thumb and forefingers a trifle forward. This simple action 
relieved Blue Grass, alias Miss Mayfield, and made the 
coach steadier and less jerky. Wonderful co-relation of 
forces. 

" Thar ! " said Yuba Bill, quietly putting the coach lamp 
back in its place ; " you're better already. Thar's nothing 
like six horses to draw a woman out of a man. I've 
knowed a case where it took eight mustangs, but it was a 
mulatter from New Orleans, and they are pizen ! Ye might 
hit up a little on the Pinto hoss — he ain't harmin' ye. So ! 
Now, Jeff, take your time, and take it easy, and what's all 
this yer about ? " 

To control six fiery mustangs, and at the same time give 
picturesque and affecting exposition of the subtle struggles of 
Love and Pride, was a performance beyond Jeff's powers. 
He had recourse to an angry staccato, which somehow 
seemed to him as ineffective as his previous discourse to 
Miss Mayfield ; he was a little incoherent, and perhaps 
mixed his impressions with his facts, but he nevertheless 



312 Jeff Briggs^s Love Story. 

managed to convey to Bill some general idea of the events 
of the past three days. ^ 

" And she sent ye off after that letter, that wasn't thar, 
while she fixed things up with Dodd ? " 

" Yes," said Jeff furiously. 

** Ye needn't bully the Pinto colt, Jeff; he is doin' his 
level best. And she snaked that 'ar ten dollars outer 
Dodd?" 

"Yes; and sent it back to me. To me, Bill ! At such 
a time as this ! As if I was dead broke ! — a mere tramp. 
As if" 

" In course ! in course ! " said Bill soothingly, yet turning 
his head aside to bestow a deceitful smile upon the trees 
that whirled beside him. " And ye told her ye didn't want 
her money ? " 

" Yes, Bill ! — but it — it — it was after she had done this ! '* 

" Surely ! I'll take the lines now, Jeff." 

He took them. Jeff relapsed into gloomy silence. The 
starlight of that dewless Sierran night was bright, and 
cold, and passionless. There was no moon to lead the 
fancy astray with its faint mysteries and suggestions ; 
nothing but a clear, greyish blue twilight, with sharply sil- 
houetted shadows, pointed here and there with bright large- 
spaced constant stars. The deep breath of the pine-woods, 
the faint cool resinous spices of bay and laurel, at last 
brought surcease to his wounded spirit. The blessed weari- 
ness of exhausted youth stole tenderly on him. His head 
nodded, dropped. Yuba Bill, with a grim smile, drew him 
to his side, enveloped him in his blanket, and felt his head 
at last sink upon his own broad shoulder. 

A few minutes later the coach drew up at the " Summit 
House." Yuba Bill did not dismount, an unusual and dis- 
turbing circumstance that brought the bar-keeper to the 
verandah. 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 313 

" What's up, old man ? " 

" I am." 

"Sworn off your reg'lar pizen?" 

*' My physician/' said Bill gravely, " hez ordered me dry 
champagne every three hours." 

Nevertheless, the bar-keeper lingered. 

" Who's that you're dry-nussin' up there ?" 

I regret that I may not give Yuba Bill's literal reply. It 
suggested a form of inquiry at once distant, indirect, out- 
rageous, and impossible. 

The bar-keeper flashed a lantern upon Jeff's curls and 
his drooping eyelashes and mustachios. 

" It's that son o' Briggs o' Tuolumne — pooty boy, ain't 
he ? " 

Bill disdained a reply. 

" Played himself out down there, I reckon. Left his rifle 
here in pawn." 

" Young man," said Bill gravely. 

"Old man." 

" Ef you're looking for a safe investment ez will pay ye 
better than forty-rod whisky at two bits a glass, jist you 
hang outer that 'ar rifle. It may make your fortin yet, or 
save ye from a drunkard's grave." With this ungracious 
pleasantry he hurried his dilatory passengers back into the 
coach, cracked his whip, and was again upon the road. 
The lights of the " Summit House " presently dropped here 
and there into the wasting shadows of the trees. Another 
stretch through the close-set ranks of pines, another dash 
through the opening, another whirl and rattle by overhang- 
ing rocks, and the vehicle was swiftly descending. Bill put 
his foot on the brake, threw his reins loosely on the necks 
of his cattle, and looked leisurely back. The great moun- 
tain was slowly and steadily rising between them and the 
valley they quitted. 



3^4 J^ff Briggs's L ove Story. 

And at that same moment Miss Mayfield had crept from 
her bed, and with a shawl around her pretty little figure, 
was pressing her eyes against a blank window of the " Half- 
way House," and wondering where he was now. 



CHAPTER V. 

The "opening" suggested by Bill was not a fortunate 
one. Possibly views of business openings in the public- 
house line taken from the tops of stage-coaches are not as 
judicious as those taken from less exalted levels. Certain 
it is that the "good-will" of the "Lone Star House" 
promised little more pecuniary value than a conventional 
blessing. It was in an older and more thickly settled 
locality than the " Half-way House ; " indeed, it was but 
half a mile away from Campville, famous in '49 — a place 
with a history and a disaster. But young communities are 
impatient of settlements that through any accident fail to 
fulfil the extravagant promise of their youth, and the 
wounded hamlet of Campville had crept into the woods 
and died. The " Lone Star House " was an attempt to 
woo the passing travellers from another point ; but its road 
led to Campville, and it was already touched by its dry-rot. 
Bill, who honestly conceived that the infusion of fresh young 
blood like Jeff's into the stagnant current would quicken it, 
had to confess his disappointment. " I thought ye could 
put some go into the shanty, Jeif," said Bill, " and make it 
lively and invitin' ! " But the lack of vitality was not in the 
landlord, but in the guests. The regular customers were 
disappointed, vacant, hopeless men, who gathered listlessly 
on the verandah, and talked vaguely of the past. Their 
hollow-eyed, feeble impotency affected the stranger, even 
as it checked all ambition among themselves. Do what 
Jeff might, the habits of the locality were stronger than his 



Jeff Briggs's L ove Story, 315 

individuality ; the dead ghosts of the past Campville held 
their property by invisible mortmain. 

In the midst of this struggle the " Half-way House " was 
sold. Spite of Bill's prediction, the proceeds barely paid 
Jeff's debts. Aunt Sally prevented any troublesome con- 
sideration of her future, by applying a small surplus of profit 
to the expenses of a journey back to her relatives in 
Kentucky. She wrote Jeff a letter of cheerless instruction, 
reminded him of the fulfilment of her worst prophecies re- 
garding him, but begged him, in her absence, to rely solely 
upon the "Word." "For the sperrit killeth," she added 
vaguely. Whether this referred figuratively to Jeff's busi- 
ness, he did not stop to consider. He was more interested 
in the information that the Mayfields had removed to the 
" Summit Hotel " two days after he had left. " She allowed 
it was for her health's sake," continued Aunt Sally, " but I 
reckon it's another name for one of them city fellers who 
j'ined their party and is keepin' company with her now. 
They talk o' property and stocks and sich worldly trifles all 
the time, and it's easy to see their idees is set together. It's 
allowed at the Forks that Mr. Mayfield paid Parker's bill 
for you. I said it wasn't so, fur ye'd hev told me ; but if it 
is so, Jeff, and ye didn't tell me, it was for only one puppos, 
and that wos that Mayfield bribed ye to break off with his 
darter! That was why you went off so suddent, 'Hke a 
thief in the night,' and why Miss Mayfield never let on a 
word about you after you left — not even your name ! " 

Jeff crushed the letter between his fingers, and going be- 
hind the bar, poured out half a glass of stimulant and drank 
it. It was not the first time since he came to the " Lone 
Star House" that he had found this easy relief from his 
present thought ; it was not the first time that he had found 
this dangerous ally of sure and swift service in bringing him 
up or down to that level of his dreary, sodden guests, so 



3^^ Jeff Br iggss Love Story. 

necessary to his trade. Jeff had not the excuse of the in- 
born drunkard's taste. He was impulsive and extreme. 
At the end of the four weeks he came out on the porch one 
night as Bill drew up. "You must take me from this place 
to-night," he said, in a broken voice scarce like his own. 
" When we're on the road we can arrange matters, but I 
must go to-night." 

"But where?" asked Bill. 

" Anywhere ! Only I must go from here. I shall go if I 
have to walk." 

Bill looked hard at the young man. His face was flushed, 
his eyes blood-shot, and his hands trembled, not with excite- 
ment, but with a vacant, purposeless impotence. Bill 
looked a little relieved. " You've been drinking too hard. 
Jeff, I thought better of ye than that ! " 

" I think better of myself than that," said Jeff, with a 
certain wild, half-hysterical laugh, "and that is why I want 
to go. Don't be alarmed. Bill," he added ; " I have strength 
enough to save myself, and I shall ! But it isn't worth the 
struggle here." 

He left the " Lone Star House " that night. He would, 
he said to Bill, go on to Sacramento, and try to get a situa- 
tion -as clerk or porter there ; he was too old to learn a 
trade. He said little more. When, after forty-eight hours' 
inability to eat, drink, or sleep, Bill, looking at his haggard 
face and staring eyes, pressed him to partake, medicinally, 
from a certain black bottle, Jeff gently put it aside, and 
saying, with a sad smile, " I can get along without it; I've 
gone through more than this," left his mentor in a state of 
mingled admiration and perplexity. 

At Sacramento he found a commercial " opening." - But 
certain habits of personal independence, combined with a 
direct truthfulness and simplicity, were not conducive to 
business advancement. He was frank, and, in his habits, 



Jeff Briggs^s Love Story, 3 1 7 

impulsive and selfishly outspoken. His employer, a good- 
natured man, successful in his way, anxious to serve his own 
interest and Jeff's equally, strove and laboured with him, 
but in vain. His employer's wife, a still more good-natured 
woman, successful in her way, and equally anxious to serve 
Jeff's interests and her own, also strove with him as unsuc- 
cessfully. At the end of a month he discharged his em- 
ployer, after a simple, boyish, utterly unbusiness-like inter- 
view, and secretly tore up the wife's letter. " I don't know 
what to make of that chap," said the husband to his wife ; 
" he's about as civilised as an Injun." '* And as conceited," 
added the lady. 

Howbeit he took his conceit, his sorrows, his curls, 
mustachios, broad shoulders, and fifty dollars into humble 
lodgings in a back street. The days succeeding this were 
the most restful he had passed since he left the " Half-way 
House." To wander through the town, half conscious of its 
strangeness and novel bustling life, and to dream of a higher 
and nobler future with Miss Mayfield — to feel no respon- 
sibility but that of waiting — was, I regret to say, a pleasure 
to him. He made no acquaintances except among the 
poorer people and the children. He was sometimes hungry, 
he was always poorly clad, but these facts carried no degra- 
dation with them now. He read much, and in his way — 
Jeff's way — tried to improve his mind ; his recent commer- 
cial experience had shown him various infelicities in his 
speech and accent. He learned to correct certain provin- 
cialisms. He was conscious that Miss Mayfield must have 
noticed them, yet his odd irrational pride kept him from 
ever regretting them, if they had offered a possible excuse 
for her treatment of him. 

On one of these nights his steps chanced to lead him into 
a gambling saloon. The place had offered no temptation to 
him ; his dealings with the goddess Chance had been of less 



3^^ J^ff ^'^^ES^'^ Love Story. 

active nature. Nevertheless he placed his last five dollars 
on the turn of a card. He won. He won repeatedly ; his 
gains had reached a considerable sum, when, flushed, 
excited, and absorbed, he was suddenly conscious that he 
had become the centre of observation at the table. Look- 
ing up, he saw that the dealer had paused, and with the 
cards in his motionless fingers, was gazing at him with fixed 
eyes and a white face. 

Jeff rose and passed hurriedly to his side. " What's the 
matter ? " he asked. 

The gambler shrunk slightly as he approached. " What's 
your name ? "- 

" Briggs." .. 

" God ! — I knew it ! How much have you got there ? " 
he continued, in a quick whisper, pointing to Jeff's winnings. 

"Five hundred dollars." 

** I'll give you double if you'll get up and quit the board !'* 

'' Why ? " asked Jeff haughtily. 

*' Why ? " repeated the man fiercely ; " why ? Well, your 
father shot himself thar, whQre you're sittin', at this table ; " 
and he added, with a half-forced, half-hysterical laugh, 
** he^s playin^ at me over your shoulders P^ 

Jeff lifted a face as colourless as the gambler's own, went 
back to his seat, and placed his entire gains on a single 
card. The gambler looked at him nervously, but dealt. 
There was a pause, a slight movement where Jeff stood, and 
then a simultaneous cry from the players as they turned 
towards him. But his seat was vacant. '' Run after him ! 
Call him back ! He's won again I " But he had vanished 
utterly. 

How he left, or what indeed followed, he never clearly 
remembered. His movements must have been automatic, 
for when, two hours later, he found himself at the 
" Pioneer " coach office, with his carpet bag and blankets by 



Jeff Griggs s Love Story, 319 

his side, he could not recall how or why he had come ! He 
had a dumb impression that he had barely escaped some 
dire calamity — rather that he had only temporarily averted 
it — and that he was still in the shadow of some impending 
catastrophe of destiny. He must go somewhere, he must 
do something to be saved ! He had no money, he had no 
friends ; even Yuba Bill had been transferred to another 
route, miles away. Yet, in the midst of this stupefaction, it 
was a part of his strange mental condition that trivial details 
of Miss Mayfield's face and figure, and even apparel, were 
constantly before him, to the exclusion of consecutive 
thought. A collar she used to wear, a ribbon she had once 
tied around her waist, a blue vein in her dropped eyelid, a 
curve in her soft, full, bird-like throat, the arch of her instep 
in her small boots — all these were plainer to him than the 
future, or even the present. But a voice in his ear, a 
figure before his abstracted eyes, at last broke upon his 
reverie. 

"JeffBriggs !" 

Jeff mechanically took the outstretched hand of a young 
clerk of the Pioneer Coach Company, who had once 
accompanied Yuba Bill and stopped at the *' Half-way 
House." He endeavoured to collect his thoughts j here 
seemed to be an opportunity to go somewhere ! 

" What are you doing now ? " said the young man 
briskly. 

" Nothing," said Jeff simply. 

*• Oh, I see — going home ! " 

Home ! The word stung sharply through Jeff's benumbed 
consciousness. 

"No," he stammered, "that is" 

" Look here, Jeff," broke in the young man, "I've got a 
chance for you that don't fall in a man's way every day. 
Wells, Fargo & Co.'s treasure messenger from Robinson's 



320 J^ff ^"^^iS^'s Z^e'^ Story. 

Ferry to Mempheys has slipped out The place is vacant. 
I reckon I can get it for you." 

«*When?" 

" Now, to-night." 

" I'm ready." 

" Come, then." 

In ten minutes they were in the Company's office, where 
its manager, a man famous in those days for his boldness 
and shrewdness, still lingered in the despatch of business. 

The young clerk briefly but deferentially stated certain 
facts. A few questions and answers followed, of which Jeff 
heard only the words *' Tuolumne " and " Yuba Bill.'' 

" Sit down, Mr. Briggs. Good-night, Roberts." 

The young clerk, with an encouraging smile to Jeff, bowed 
himself out as the manager seated himself at his desk and 
began to write. 

"You know the country pretty well between the Fork 
and the Summit, Mr. Briggs ? " he said, without looking up. 

" I lived there," said Jeff. 

" That was some months ago, wasn't it ? " 

" Six months," said Jeff, with a sigh. 

" It's changed for the worse since your house was shut 
up. There's a long stretch of unsettled country infested by 
bad characters." 

Jeff sat silent. 

*' Briggs." 

" Sir ? " 

" The last man but one who precedes you was shot by 
road agents."* 

" Yes, sir." 
- *'We lost sixty thousand dollars up there." 

"Yes?" 

" Your father was Briggs of Tuolumne ? " 
* Highway robbers. 



Jeff Briggs' s Love Story. 321 

" Yes, sir." Jeff's head dropped, but, glancing shyly up, 
he saw a pleasant smile on his questioner's face. He was 
still writing rapidly, but was apparently enjoying at the same 
time some pleasant recollection. 

" Your father and I lost nearly sixty thousand dollars 
together one night, ten years ago, when we were both 
younger." 

" Yes, sir," said Jeff dubiously. 

'' But it was our own money, Jeff." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Here's your appointment," he said briefly, throwing 
away his pen, folding what he had written, and handing it to 
Jeff. It was the first time that he had looked at him since 
he entered. He now held out his hand, grasped Jeff's, and 
said, " Good-night \ " 

CHAPTER VI. 

It was late the next evening when Jeff drew up at the coach 
office at Robinson's Ferry, where he was to await the 
coming of the Summit coach. His mind, lifted only 
temporarily out of its benumbed condition during his inter- 
view with the manager, again fell back into its dull abstrac- 
tion. Fully embarked upon his dangerous journey, accept- 
ing all the meaning of the trust imposed upon him, he was 
yet vaguely conscious that he did not realise its full impor- 
tance. He had neither the dread nor the stimulation of 
coming danger. He had faced death before in the boyish 
confidence of animal spirits j his pulse now was scarcely 
stirred with anticipation. Once or twice before, in the 
extravagance of his passion, he had imagined himself rescu- 
ing Miss Mayfield from danger, or even dying for her. 
During his- journey his mind had dwelt fully and minutely 
on every detail of their brief acquaintance \ she was con- 

VOL. V. X 



322 J^ff B'^^gg^'s Love Story. 

tinually before him, the tones of her voice were in his ears, 
the suggestive touch of her fingers, the thrill that his lips 
had felt when he kissed them — all were with him now, but 
only as a memory. In his coming fate, in his future life, he 
saw her not. He believed it was a premonition of coming 
death. 

He made a few preparations. The Company's agent had 
told him that the treasure, letters, and despatches, which 
had accumulated to a considerable amount, would be 
handed to him on the box; and that the arms and 
ammunition were in the boot. A less courageous and 
determined man might have been affected by the cold, 
practical brutality of certain advice and instructions offered 
him by the agent, but Jeff recognised this compliment to 
his determination, even before the agent concluded his 
speech by saying, "But I reckon they knew what they were 
about in the lower office when they sent you up. I dare- 
say you kin give me p'ints, ef ye cared to, for all ye're soft 
spoken. There are only four passengers booked through ; 
we hev to be a little partikler, suspectin' spies ! Two of 
the four ye kin depend upon to get the top o' their d — d 
heads blowed off the first fire," he added grimly. 

At ten o'clock the Summit coach flashed, rattled, 
ghttered, and snapped, like a disorganised firework, up to 
the door of the Company's office. A familiar figure, but 
more than usually truculent and aggressive, slowly des- 
cended ^\\ki violent oaths from the box. Without seeing 
Jeff, it strode into the office. 

*'Now then," said Yuba Bill, addressing the agent, "whar's 
that God-forsaken fool that Wells, Fargo & Co. hev sent 
up yar to take charge o' their treasure ? Because I'd like to 
introduce him to the champion idgit of Calaveras county, 
that's been selected to go to h — 11 with him ; and that's me, 
Yuba Bill 1 P'int him out. Don't keep me waitin' ! " 



Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 323 

The agent grinned and pointed to Jeff. 

Both men recoiled in astonishment. Yuba Bill was the 
first to recover his speech. 

" It's a lie ! " he roared ; " or somebody has been putting 
up a job on ye, Jeff! Because I've been twenty years in 
the service, and am such a natural born mule that when the 
Company strokes my back and sez, 'You're the on'y mule 
we kin trust, Bill,' I starts up and goes out as a blasted 
wooden figgerhead for road agents to lay fur and practise 
on, it don't follow \}ql2X you've any call to go." 

" It was my own seeking. Bill," said Jeff, with one of his 
old, sweet, boyish smiles. "I didn't know you were to 
drive. But you're not going back on me now, Bill, are you ? 
— you're not going to send me off with another volunteer ? " 

"That be d— d!" growled Bill. Nevertheless, for ten 
minutes he reviled the Pioneer Coach Company with 
picturesque imprecation, tendered his resignation repeatedly 
to the agent, and at the end of that time, as everybody 
expected, mounted the box, and with a final malediction, 
involving the whole settlement, was off. 

On the road, Jeff, in a few hurried sentences, told his 
story. Bill scarcely seemed to Hsten. " Look yar, Jeff," 
he said suddenly. 

"Yes, Bill." 

" If the worst happens, and ye go under, you'll tell your 
father, if I don t happen to see him firsts it wasn't no job of 
mine, and I did my best to get ye out of it." 

"Yes," said Jeff, in a faint voice. 

" It mayn't be so bad," said Bill softening ; " they know^ 
d — n 'em, we've got a pile aboard, ez well ez if they seed 
that agent gin it ye, but they also know we've pre-pared ! " 

" I wasn't thinking of that, Bill j I was thinking of my 
father." And he told Bill of the gambling episode at 
Sacramento. 



324 Jeff Briggss Love Story. 

" D'ye mean to say ye left them hounds with a thousand 
dollars of yer hard-earned " 

" Gambling gains, Bill," interrupted Jeff quietly. 

" Exactly ! Well ! " Bill subsided into an incoherent 
growl. After a few moments' pause, he began again. 
" Yer ready as ye used to be with a six-shooter, Jeff, time's 
when ye was a boy, and I uster chuck half-dollars in the 
air fur ye to make warts on ? " 

" I reckon," said Jeff, with a faint smile. 

" Thar's two p'ints on the road to be looked to : the 
woods beyond the blacksmith's shop that uster be j the 
fringe of alder and buckeye by the crossing below your 
house — p'ints where they kin fetch you without a show. 
Thar's two ways o' meetin' them thar. One way ez to pull 
up and trust to luck and brag. The other way is to whip 
up and yell, and send the whole six kiting by like h — 11 ! " 

"Yes," said Jeff. 

" The only drawback to that plan is this : the road lies 
along the edge of a precipice, straight down a thousand 
feet into the river. Ef these devils get a shot into any one 
o' the six and it drops, the coach turns sharp off, and down 
we go, the whole kerboodle of us, plump into the Stanis- 
laus!" 

*' And they dont get the money, ^^ said Jeff quietly. 

*'Well, no!" replied Yuba Bill, staring at Jeff, whose 
face was set as a flint against the darkness. "I should 
reckon not." He then drew a long breath, glanced at Jeff 
again, and said between his teeth, '' Well, I'm d — d ! " 

At the next station they changed horses, Bill personally 
supervising, especially as regarded the welfare and proper 
condition of Blue Grass, who here was brought out as a 
leader. Formerly there was no change of horses at this 
station, and this novelty excited Jeff's remark. "These 
yar chaps say thar's no station at the Summit now," growled 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. 325 

Bill, in explanation; *'the hotel is closed, and it's all 
private property, bought by some chap from 'Frisco. Thar 
ought to be a law agin such doin's ! " 

This suggested obliteration of the last traces of Miss 
Mayfield seemed to Jeff as only a corroboration of his pre- 
monition. He should never hear from her again ! Yet to 
have stood under the roof that last sheltered her ; to, per- 
chance, have met some one who had seen her later — this 
was a fancy that had haunted him on his journey. It was 
all over now. Perhaps it was for the best. 

With the sinking behind of the lights of the station, the 
occupants of the coach knew that the dangerous part of the 
journey had begun. The two guards in the coach had 
already made obtrusive and warlike preparations, to the ill- 
concealed disgust of Yuba Bill. *' I'd hev been willin' to 
get through this yar job without the burnin' of powder, but 
ef any of them devils ez is waitin' for us would be content 
with a shot at them fancy policemen inside^ I'd pull up and 
give 'em a show ! " Having relieved his mind, Bill said no 
more, and the two men relapsed into silence. The moon 
shone brightly and peacefully, a fact pointed out by Bill as 
unfavourably deepening the shadows of the woods, and 
bringing the coach and the road into greater relief. 

An hour passed. What were Yuba Bill's thoughts are 
not a part of this history; that they were turbulent and 
aggressive might be inferred from the occasional growls and 
interjected oaths that broke from his lips. But Jeff, strange 
anomaly, due perhaps to youth and moonlight, was wrapped 
in a sensuous dream of Miss Mayfield, of the scent of her 
dark hair as he had drawn her to his side, of the outlines of 
her sweet form, that had for a moment lightly touched his 
own — of anything, I fear, but the death he believed he was 
hastening to. But 

"Jeff," said Bill, in an unmistakable tone. 



326 J^ff B^^a^'s Love Story. 

"Yes," said Jeff. 

" That ar clwnp d buckeye on the ridge ! Ready there ! " 
(Leaning over the box, to the guards within.) A responsive 
rustle in the coach, which now bounded forward as if in- 
stinct with life and intelligence. 

"Jeff," said Bill, in an odd, altered voice, "take the lines 
a minit." Jeff took them. Bill stooped towards the boot. 
A peaceful moment ! A peaceful outlook from the coach ; 
the white moonlit road stretching to the ridge, no noise but 
the steady gallop of the horses ! 

Then a yellow flash, breaking from the darkness of the 
buckeye ; a crack like the snap of a whip ; Yuba Bill 
steadying himself for a moment, and then dropping at Jeff's 
feet ! 

"They got me, Jeff! But — / draw ed their fire ! Don't 
drop the Hnes ! Don't speak! For — they — think V in you 
and you 7ne ! " 

The flash had illuminated Jeff as to the danger, as to 
Bill's sacrifice, but above all, and overwhelming all, to a 
thrilling sense of his own power and ability. 

Yet he sat like a statue. Six masked figures had appeared 
from the very ground, clinging to the' bits of the horses. 
The coach stopped. Two wild purposeless shots — the first 
and last fired by the guards — were answered by the muzzle 
of six rifles pointed into the windows, and the passengers 
foolishly and impotently filed out into the road. 

" Now, Bill," said a voice, which Jeff instantly recognised 
as the blacksmith's, "we won't keep ye long. So hand 
down the treasure." 

The man's foot was on the wheel; in another instant 
he would be beside Jeff, and discovery was certain. Jeff 
leaned over and unhooked the coach lamp, as if to assist 
him with its light. As if in turning, he stumbled, broke the 
lamp, ignited the kerosene, and scattered the wick and 



Jeff Briggss L ove Story. 327 

blazing fluid over the haunches of the wheelers ! The 
maddened animals gave one wild plunge forwards, the coach 
followed twice its length, throwing the blacksmith under its 
wheels, and driving the other horses towards the bank. 
But as the lamp broke in Jeff's right hand, his practised left 
hand discharged its hidden Derringer at the head of the 
robber who had held the bit of Blue Grass, and throwing 
the useless weapon away, he laid the whip smartly on her 
back. She leaped forward madly, dragging the other 
leaders with her, and in the next moment they were free 
and wildly careering down the grade. 

A dozen shots followed them. The men were protected 
by the coach, but Yuba Bill groaned. 

" Are you hit again ? " asked Jeff hastily. He had for- 
gotten his saviour. 

" No ; but the horses are ! I felt 'em ! Look at 'em, 
Jeff." 

Jeff had gathered up the almost useless reins. The 
horses were running away ; but Blue Grass was limping. 

"For God's sake," said Bill, desperately dragging his 
wounded figure above the dash-board, " keep her up ! 
Lift her up, Jeff, till we pass the curve. Don't let her drop 
or we're " 

" Can you hold the reins ? " said Jeff quickly. 

"Give 'em here!" 

Jeff passed them to the wounded man. Then, with his 
bowie-knife between his teeth, he leaped over the dash-board 
on the backs of the wheelers. He extinguished the blazing 
drops that the wind had not blown out on their smarting 
haunches, and with the skill and instinct of a Mexican 
vaquero, made his way over their turbulent tossing backs to 
Blue Grass, cut her traces and reins, and as the vehicle 
neared the curve, with a sharp lash, drove her to the bank, 
where she sank even as the coach darted by. Bill uttered 



328 Jeff Briggss Love Story, 

a feeble " hurrah ! " but at the same moment the reins 
dropped from his fingers, and he sank at the bottom of the 
boot. 

Riding postihon-wise, Jeff could control the horses. The 
dangerous curve was passed, but not the possibility of 
pursuit. The single leader he was bestriding was panting — 
more than that, he was sweatings and from the evidence of 
Jeff's hands, sweating blood! Back of his shoulder was a 
jagged hole, from which his life-blood was welling. The 
off-wheel horse was limping too. That last volley was no 
foolish outburst of useless rage, but was deliberate and pre- 
meditated skill. Jeff drew the reins, and as the coach 
stopped, the horse he v/as riding fell dead. Into the silence 
that followed broke the measured beat of horses' hoofs on 
the road above. He was pursued ! 

To select the best horse of the remaining unscathed 
three, to break open the boot and place the treasure on his 
back, and to abandon and leave the senseless Bill lying 
there, was the unhesitating work of a moment. Great 
heroes and great lovers are invariably one-id ead men, and 
Jeff was at that moment both. 

Eighty thousand dollars in gold dust and Jeff's weight 
was a handicap. Nevertheless he flew forward like the 
wind. Presently he fell to listening. A certain hoof-beat 
in the rear was growing more distinct. A bitter thought 
flashed through his mind. He looked back. Over the 
hill appeared the foremost of his pursuers. It was the 
blacksmith, mounted on the fleetest horse in the county — 
Jeff's own horse — Rabbit ! 

But there are compensations in all new trials. As Jeff 
faced round again, he saw he had reached the open table- 
land, and the bleak walls and ghastly, untenanted windows 
of the " Half-way House " rose before him in the distance. 
Jeff was master of the ground here ! He was entering the 



Jeff Briggs s Love Story. y^c) 

shadow of the woods — Miss Mayfield's woods ! and there 
was a cut off from the road, and a bridle path, known only 
to himself, hard by. To find it, leap the roadside ditch, 
dash through the thicket, and rein up by the road again, 
was swiftly done. 

Take a gentle woman, betray her trust, outrage her best 
feelings, drive her into a corner, and you have a fury ! 
Take a gentle, trustful man, abuse him, show him the folly 
of this gentleness and kindness, prove to him that it is 
weakness, drive him into a corner, and you have a savage ! 
And it was this savage, with an Indian's memory, and an 
Indian's eye and ear, that suddenly confronted the black- 
smith. - 

What more ! A single shot from a trained hand and 
one-idead intellect settled the blacksmith's business, and 
temporarily ended this Iliad ! I say temporarily, for Mr. 
Dodd, formerly deputy-sheriff, prudently pulled up at the 
top of the hill, and observing his principal bend his head 
forwards and act like a drunken man, until he reeled, limp 
and sideways, from the saddle, and noticing further that 
Jeff took his place with a well-filled saddle-bag, concluded 
to follow cautiously and unobtrusively in the rear. 

CHAPTER VII. 

But Jeff saw him not. With mind and will bent on one 
object — to reach the first habitation, the *' Summit," and 
send back help and assistance to his wounded comrade — 
he urged Rabbit forward. The mare knew her rider, but 
he had no time for caresses. Through the smarting of his 
hands he had only just noticed that they were badly 
burned, and the skin was peeling from them ; he had con- 
founded the blood that was flowing from a cut on his scalp, 
with that from the wounded horse. It was one hour yet 



33^ J^ff ^"^^SS^^^ Love Story. 

to the "Summit," but the road was good, the moon was 
bright, he knew what Rabbit could do, and it was not yet 
ten o'clock. 

As the white outbuildings and irregular outlines of the 
" Summit House " began to be visible, Jeff felt a singular 
return of his former dreamy abstraction. The hour of peril, 
anger, and excitement he had just passed through seemed 
something of years ago, or rather to be obliterated with all 
else that had passed since he had looked upon that scene. 
Yet it was all changed — strangely changed ! What Jeff 
had taken for the white, wooden barns and outhouses, were 
greenhouses and conservatories. The *' Summit Hotel" 
was a picturesque villa, nestling in the self-same trees, but 
approached through cultivated fields, dwellings of labourers, 
parklike gates and walls, and all the bountiful appointments 
of wealth and security. Jeff thought of Yuba Bill's maledic- 
tion, and understood it as he gazed. 

The barking of dogs announced his near approach to the 
principal entrance. Lights were still burning in the upper 
windows of the house and its offices. He was at once 
surrounded by the strange medley of a Californian ran- 
chero's service, peons, Chinese, and vaqueros. Jeff briefly 
stated his business. "Ah, Carrajo!" This was a matter 
for the major-domo, or, better, iht padrone — Wilson! But 
the padrone, Wilson, called out by the tumult, appeared in 
person — a handsome, resolute, middle-aged man, who, in 
a twinkling, dispersed the group to barn and stable with a 
dozen orders of preparation, and then turned to Jeff. 

"You are hurt; come in." 

Jeff followed him dazedly into the house. The same 
sense of remote abstraction, of vague dreaminess, was over- 
coming him. He resented it, and fought against it, but in 
vain ; he was only half conscious that his host had bathed 
his head and given him some slight restorative, had said 



Jeff B7Hggs's Love Story. 331 

something to him soothingly, and had left him. Jeff 
wondered if he had fainted, or was about to faint — he had 
a nervous dread of that womanish weakness — or if he were 
really hurt worse than he believed. He tried to master 
himself and grasp the situation by minutely examining the 
room. It was luxuriously furnished ; Jeff had but once 
before sat in such an arm-chair as the one that half em- 
braced him, and as a boy he had dim recollections of a life 
like this, of which his father was part. To poor Jeff, with 
his throbbing head, his smarting hands, and his lapsing 
moments of half forgetfulness, this seemed to be a return 
of his old premonition. There was a vague perfume in the 
room, like that which he remembered when he was in the 
woods with Miss Mayfield. He believed he was growing 
faint again, and was about to rise, when the door opened 
behind him. 

" Is there anything we can do for you ? Mr. Wilson 
has gone to seek your friend, and has sent Manuel for a 
doctor." 

Her voice ! He rose hurriedly, turned ; she was stand- 
ing in the doorway ! 

She uttered a slight cry^ turned very pale, advanced 
towards him, stopped and leaned against the chimney- 
piece. 

*' I didn't know it was you.^^ 

With her actual presence Jeff's dream and weakness 
fled. He rose up before her, his old bashful, stammering, 
awkward self. 

"/didn't know yoic lived here, Miss Mayfield." 

" If you had sent word you were coming," said Miss 
Mayfield, recovering her colour brightly in one cheek. 

The possibility of having sent a messenger in advance 
to advise Miss Mayfield of his projected visit did not strike 
Jeff a5 ridiculous. Your true lover is far beyond such 



33^ J^ff ^'^^^Si^'^ Love Story. 

trivialities. He accepted the rebuke meekly. He said he 
was sorry. 

"You might have known it." 
" What, Miss Mayfield ? " 
*'That I was here, if you wished to know." 
Jeff did not reply. He bowed his head and clasped his 
burned hands together. Miss Mayfield saw their raw sur- 
faces, saw the ugly cut on his head, pitied him, but went 
on hastily, with both cheeks burning, to say, womanlike, 
what was then deepest in her heart. 

' My brother-in-law told me your adventure ; but I did 
not know until I entered this room that the gentleman I 
wished to help was one who had once rejected my assist- 
ance, who had misunderstood, me, and cruelly insulted me ! 
Oh, forgive me, Mr. Briggs " (Jeif had risen). " I did not 
mean that. But, Mr. Jeff— Jeff— oh ! " (She. had caught 
his tortured hand and had wrung a movement of pain from 
him.) "Oh, dear! what did I do now? But, Mr. Jeff, 
after what had passed, after what you said to me when you 
went away, when you were at that dreadful place, Camp- 
ville, when you were two months in Sacramento, you might 
— you ought to have let me know it ! " 

Jeff turned. Her face, more beautiful than he had ever 
seen it, alive and eloquent with every thought that her 
woman's speech but half-expressed, was very near his — so 
near, that under her honest eyes the wretched scales fell from 
his own, his self-wrought shackles crumbled away, and he 
dropped upon his knees at her feet as she sank into the chair 
he had quitted. Both his hands were grasped in her own. 

" You went away, and I stayed,'^ she said reflectively. 

" I had no home. Miss Mayfield. '* 

" Nor had I. I had to buy this," she said, with delicious 
simplicity, "and bring a family here too," she added, "in 
case you " she stopped, with a slight colour. 



Jeff Briggss Love Story. 333 

" Forgive me," said Jeff, burying his face in her hands. 

"Jeff." 
."Jessie." 

"Don't you think you were a little — just a Uttle — mean?" 

" Yes." 

Miss Mayfield uttered a faint sigh. He looked into her 
anxious cheeks and eyes, his arm stole round her; their 
lips met for the first time in one long Ungering kiss. Then, 
I fear, for the second time. 

"Jeff," said Miss Mayfield, suddenly becoming practical 
and sweetly possessory, " you must have your hands bound 
up in cotton." 

" Yes," said Jeff cheerfully. 

" And you must go instantly to bed." 

Jeff stared. 

" Because my sister will think it very late for me to be 
sitting up with a gentleman." 

The idea that Miss Mayfield was responsible to anybody 
was something new to Jefif. But he said hastily, "I must 
stay and wait for Bill. He risked his life for me." 

" Oh yes ! You must tell me all about it. I may wait 
for that:' 

Jeff possessed himself of the chair; in some way he also 
possessed himself of Miss Mayfield without entirely dispos- 
sessing her. Then he told his story. He hesitated over 
the episode of the blacksmith. " I'm afraid I killed him, 
Jessie." 

Miss Mayfield betrayed little concern at this possible ex- 
treme measure with a dangerous neighbour. " He cut your 
head, Jeff," she said, passing her little hand through his 
curls. 

"No," said Jeff hastily "that must have been done 
before.'^ 

"Well," said Miss Mayfield conclusively, "he would 



334 J^ff B'^'^gg^^ Love Story. 

if he'd dared. And you brought off that wretched money 
in spite of him. Poor dear Jeff! " 

" Yes," said Jeff, kissing her. 

" Where is it?" asked Jessie, looking round the room. 

" Oh, just out there ! " 

" Out where ? " 

" On my horse, you know, outside the door,'' continued 
Jeff, a little uneasily, as he rose. " I'll go and " 

"You careless boy," said Miss Mayfield, jumping up, 
" I'll go with you." 

They passed out on the porch together, holding each 
other's hands, like children. The forgotten Rabbit was 
not there. Miss Mayfield called a vaquero. 

" Ah, yes ! — the caballe?'os horse. Of a certainty the 
other caballero had taken it ! " 

" The other caballero ! " gasped Jeff. 

** iS/, Seiior. The one who arrived with you, or a moment, 
the very next moment, after you. ' Your friend,' he said." 

Jeff staggered against the porch, and cast one despairing 
reproachful look at Miss Mayfield. 

"Oh, Jeff! Jeff! don't look so ! I know I ought not to 
have kept you ! It's a mistake, Jeff, believe me." 

" It's no mistake," said Jeff hoarsely. " Go ! " he said, 

turning to the vaquero^ " go ! — bring " But his speech 

failed. He attempted to gesticulate with his hands, ran 
forward a few steps, staggered, and fell fainting on the 
ground. 

" Help me with the caballero into the blue room," said 
Miss Mayfield, white as Jeff. "And hark ye, Manuel! 
You know every ruffian, man or woman, on this road. 
That horse and those saddle-bags must be here to-morrow, 
if you have to pay double what they're worth I " 

"»S/, SenoraJ'^ 

Jeff went off into fever, into dehrium, into helpless stupor. 



• J^ff ^'^^'^SS^'^ Love Story, 335 

From time to time he moaned " Bill," and " the treasure." 
On the third day, in a lucid interval, as he lay staring at 
the wall, Miss Mayfield put in his hand a letter from the 
Company, acknowledging the receipt of the treasure, 
thanking him for his zeal, and enclosing a handsome 
cheque. 

Jeff sat up, and put his hands to his head. 

" I told you it was taken by mistake, and was easily 
found," said Miss Mayfield, "didn't I ? " 

"Yes,— and Bill?" 

" You know he is so much better that he expects to 
leave us next week." 

"And— Jessie !" 

" There— go to sleep ! " 

At the end of a week she introduced Jeff to her sister-in- 
law, having previously run her fingers through his hair to 
ensure that becomingness to his curls which would better 
indicate his moral character; and spoke of him as one of 
her oldest Californian friends. 

At the end of two weeks she again presented him as her 
affianced husband — a long engagement of a year being just 
passed. Mr. Wilson, who was bored by the mountain Hfe, 
undertaken to please his rich wife and richer sister, saw a 
chance of escape here, and bore walling testimony to the 
distant Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield of the excellence of Miss 
Jessie's choice. And Yuba Bill was JefPs best man. 

The name of Briggs remained a power in Tuolumne and 
Calaveras county. Mr. and Mrs. Briggs never had but one 
word of disagreement or discussion. One day, Jeff, looking 
over some old accounts of his wife's, found an unreceipted, 
unvouched-for expenditure of twenty thousand dollars. 
*' What is this for, Jessie ? " he asked. 

" Oh, it's all right, Jeff ! " ' 

But here the now business-like and practical Mr. Briggs, 



33^ J^ff ^'^'^SS^'^ Z^z/^ Story. 

father of a family, felt called upon to make some general re- 
marks regarding the necessity of exactitude in accounts, &c. 

" But I'd rather not tell you, Jeff." 

** But you ought to, Jessie." 

"Well then, dear, it was to get those saddle-bags of 
yours from that rascal, Dodd," said little Mrs. Briggs 
meekly. 



CONDENSED NOVELS. 



VOL. V. 



( 339 ) 



A MODERN INDIAN NO VEL, 



AFTER COOPER. 



CHAPTER I. 



It was toward the close of a bright October day. The last 
rays of the setting sun were reflected from one of those 
sylvan lakes pecuHar to the Sierras of California. On the 
right the curling smoke of an Indian village rose between 
the columns of the lofty pines, while to the left the log 
cottage of Judge Tompkins, embowered in buckeyes, com- 
pleted the enchanting picture. 

Although the exterior of the cottage was humble and 
unpretentious, and in keeping with the wildness of the 
landscape, its interior gave evidence of the cultivation and 
refinement of its inmates. An aquarium, containing gold- 
fishes, stood on a marble centre-table at one end of the 
apartment, while a magnificent grand piano occupied the 
other. The floor was covered with a yielding tapestry 
carpet, and the walls were adorned with paintings from the 
pencils of Van Dyke, Rubens, Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, 
and the productions of the more modern Turner, Kensett, 
Church, and Bierstadt Although Judge Tompkins had 
chosen the frontiers of civilisation as his home, it was 
impossible for him to entirely forego the habits and tastes 
of his former life. He was seated in a luxurious arm-chair, 



340 Muck-a-Muck, 

writing at a mahogany escritoire, while his daughter, a lovely 
young girl of seventeen summers, plied her crotchet-needle 
on an ottoman beside him. |"A bright fire of pine logs 
flickered and flamed on the ample hearth. 

Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins's only 
child. Her mother had long since died on the Plains. 
Reared in affluence, no pains had been spared with the 
daughter's education. She was a graduate of one of the 
principal seminaries, and spoke French with a perfect 
Benicia accent. Peerlessly beautiful, she was dressed in a 
white moire antique robe trimmed with ttdle. That simple 
rosebud, with which most heroines exclusively decorate 
their hair, was all she wore in her raven locks. 

The Judge was the first to break the silence. 

" Genevra, the logs which compose yonder fire seem to 
have been incautiously chosen. The sibilation produced 
by the sap, which exudes copiously therefrom, is not con- 
ducive to composition." 

"True, father, but I thought it would be preferable to 
the constant crepitation which is apt to attend the combus- 
tion of more seasoned ligneous fragments." 

The Judge looked admiringly at the intellectual features 
of the graceful girl, and half forgot the slight annoyances 
of the green wood in the musical accents of his daughter. 
He was smoothing her hair tenderly, when the shadow of 
a tall figure, which suddenly darkened the doorway, caused 
him to look up. 

CHAPTER II. 

It needed but a glance at the new-comer to detect at once 
the form and features of the haughty aborigine, — the un- 
taught and untrammelled son of the forest. Over one 
shoulder a blanket, negligently i)ut gracefully thrown, dis- 



Mtuk-a-Muck.' 341 

closed a bare and powerful breast, decorated with a quantity 
of three-cent postage-stamps which he had despoiled from 
an Overland Mail stage a few weeks previous. A cast-off 
beaver of Judge Tompkins's, adorned by a simple feather, 
covered his erect head, from beneath which his straight 
locks descended. His right hand hung lightly by his side, 
while his left was engaged in holding on a pair of panta- 
loons, which the lawless grace and freedom of his lower 
limbs evidently could not brook. 

" Why," said the Indian, in a low sweet tone, — " why 
does the Pale Face still follow the track of the Red Mm P^ 
Why does he pursue him, even as 0-kee chow, the wild-cat, 
chases Ka-ka, the skunk ? W^hy are the feet of Sorrel-top, 
the white chief, among the acorns of Muck-a-Muck, the 
mountain forest? JjVhy," he repeated, quietly but firmly 
abstracting a silver spoon from the table — "why do you 
seek to drive him from the wigwams of his fathers ? His 
brothers are already gone to the happy hunting-grounds. 
Will the Pale Face seek him there ? " And, averting his 
face from the Judge, he hastily slipped a silver cake-basket 
beneath his blanket, to conceal his emotion. 

^^ Muck-a-Muck has spoken," said Genevra softly. "Let 
him now Hsten. Are the acorns of the mountain sweeter 
than the esculent and nutritious bean of the Pale Face miner? 
Does my brother prize the edible qualities of the snail above 
that of the -crisp and oleaginous bacon? Delicious are the 
grasshoppers that sport on the hill-side, — are they better 
than the dried apples of the Pale Faces ? Pleasant is the 
gurgle of the torrent, Kish-Kish, but is it better than the 
cluck-cluck of old Bourbon from the old stone bottle?" 

" Ugh ! " said the Indian,—" ugh ! good. The White 
Rabbit is wise. Her words fall as the snow on Tootoonolo, 
and the rocky heart of Muck-a-Muck is hidden. What says 
my brother the Gray Gopher of Dutch Flat ? " 



342 Muck-a-Muck. 

" She has spoken, Muck-a-Muck," said the Judge, gazing 
fondly on his daughter. 3 " It is well. Our treaty is con- 
cluded. No, thank you, — you need not dance the Dance 
of Snow Shoes, or the Moccasin Dance, the Dance of Green 
Corn, or the Treaty Dance. I would be alone. A strange 
sadness overpowers me." 

\ll I go," said the Indian. *' Tell your great chief in 
Washington, the Sachem Andy, that the Red Man is retir- 
ing before the footsteps of the adventurous Pioneer. Inform 
him, if you please, that westward the star of empire takes 
its way, that the chiefs of the Pi-Ute nation are for Recon- 
struction to a man, and that Klamath will poll a heavy 
Republican vote in the fall." 

And folding his blanket more tightly around him, Muck- 
a-Muck withdrew. 3 



CHAPTER III. 

Genevra Tompkins stood at the door of the log-cabin, 
looking after the retreating Overland Mail stage which 
conveyed her father to Virginia City. " He may never 
return again," sighed the young girl, as she glanced at the 
frightfully rolling vehicle and wildly careering horses, — 
" at least, with unbroken bones. Should he meet with an 
accident ! I mind me now a fearful legend, familiar to my 
childhood. Can it be that the drivers on this line are 
privately instructed to despatch all passengers maimed by 
accident, to prevent tedious litigation ? No, no. But why 
this weight upon my heart ? " 

She seated herself at the piano and lightly passed her 
hand over the keys. Then, in a clear mezzo-soprano voice, 
she sang the first verse of one of the most popular Irish 
ballads — 



Muck-a-Muck. 343 

*' O Arrah, ma dheelish, the distant dtidheen 
Lies soft in the moonlight, ma bonchal vourneen : 
The springing gossoons on the heather are still, 
And the caubeens and colleens are heard on the hill." 

But as the ravishing notes of her sweet voice died upon 
the air, her hands sank Hstlessly to her side. Music could 
not chase away the mysterious shadow from her heart. 
Again she rose. Putting on a white crape bonnet, and 
carefully drawing a pair of lemon-coloured gloves over her 
taper fingers, she seized her parasol and plunged into the 
depths of the pine forest. 



CHAPTER IV. 

!_Genevra had not proceeded many miles before a weariness 
seized upon her fragile limbs, and she would fain seat her- 
self upon the trunk of a prostrate pine, which she previously 
dusted with her handkerchief. The sun was just sinking 
below the horizon, and the scene was one of gorgeous and 
sylvan beauty. " How beautiful is Nature ! " murmured 
the innocent girl, as, reclining gracefully against the root 
of the tree, she gathered up her skirts and tied a handker- 
chief around her throat. But a low growl interrupted her 
meditation. Starting to her feet, her eyes met a sight which 
froze her blood with terror. 

The only outlet to the forest was the narrow path, barely 
wide enough for a single person, hemmed in by trees and 
rocks, which she had just traversed. Down this path, in 
Indian file, came a monstrous grizzly, closely followed by 
a California lion, a wild cat, and a buffalo, the rear being 
brought up by a wild Spanish bull. The mouths of the 
three first animals were distended with frightful significance, 
the horns of the last were lowered as ominously. As 



344 Muck-a-Muck. 

Genevra was preparing to faint, she heard a low voice 
behind her. 

"Eternally dog-gone my skin ef this ain't the puttiest 
chance yet." 

At the same moment, a long, shining barrel dropped 
lightly from behind her, and rested over her shoulder. 

Genevra shuddered. 

" Dern ye — don't move ! " 

Genevra became motionless. 

The crack of a rifle rang through the woods. Three 
frightful yells were heard, and two sullen roars. Five 
animals bounded into the air and five lifeless bodies lay 
upon the plain. The well-aimed bullet had done its work. 
Entering the open throat of the grizzly it had traversed his 
body only to enter the throat of the California lion, and in 
like manner the catamount, until it passed through into the 
respective foreheads of the bull and the buffalo, and finally 
fell flattened from the rocky hillside. 

Genevra turned quickly. " My preserver ! " she shrieked, 
and fell into the arms of Natty Bumpo, the celebrated Pike 
Ranger of Donner Lake. 



CHAPTER V. 

The moon rose cheerfully above Donner Lake. On its 
placid bosom a dug-out canoe glided rapidly, containing 
Natty Bumpo and Genevra Tompkins. 

Both were silent. The same thought possessed each, 
and perhaps there was sweet companionship even in the 
unbroken quiet. Genevra bit the handle of her parasol 
and blushed. Natty Bumpo took a fresh chew of tobacco. 
At length Genevra said, as if in half-spoken reverie — 

" The soft shining of the moon and the peaceful ripple 



Muck- a- Muck. 345 

of the waves seem to say to us various things of an 
instructive and moral tendency." 

"You may bet yer pile on that, miss," said her com- 
panion gravely. '' It's all the preachin' and psalm-singin' 
I've heern since I was a boy." 

" Noble being ! " said Miss Tompkins to herself, glancing 
at the stately Pike as he bent over his paddle to conceal 
his emotion. " Reared in this wild seclusion, yet he has 
become penetrated with visible consciousness of a Great 
First Cause." Then, collecting herself, she said aloud : 
" Methinks 'twere pleasant to glide ever thus down the 
stream of life, hand in hand with the one being whom the 
soul claims as its affinity. But what am I saying ? " — and 
the delicate-minded girl hid her face in her hands. 

A long silence ensued, which was at length broken by 
her companion. 

" Ef you mean you're on the marry," he said thought- 
fully, " I ain't in no wise partikler ! " 

*' My husband," faltered the blushing girl ; and she fell 
into his arms. ~ 

In ten minutes more the loving couple had landed at 
Judge Tompkins's. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A YEAR has passed away. Natty Bumpo was returning 
from Gold Hill, where he had been to purchase provisions. 
On his way to Donner Lake, rumours of an Indian uprising 
met his ears. " Dern their pesky skins, ef they dare to 
touch my Jenny," he muttered between his clenched teeth. 
It was dark when he reached the borders of the lake. 
Around a glittering fire he dimly discerned dusky figures 
dancing. They were in war paint. Conspicuous among 



34^ Muck-a-Muck. 

them was the renowned Muck-a-Muck. But why did the 
fingers of Natty Bumpo tighten convulsively around his 
rifle? 

The chief held in his hand long tufts of raven hair. The 
heart of the pioneer sickened as he recognised the clustering 
curls of Genevra. In a moment his rifle was at his shoulder, 
and with a sharp "ping," Muck-a-Muck leaped into the 
air a corpse. To knock out the brains of the remaining 
savages, tear the tresses from the stiffening hand of Muck- 
a-Muck, and dash rapidly forward to the cottage of Judge 
Tompkins, was the work of a moment. 

He burst open the door. Why did he stand transfixed 
with open mouth and distended eyeballs ? Was the sight 
too horrible to be borne ? On the contrary, before him, 
in her peerless beauty, stood Genevra Tompkins, leaning 
on her father's arm. 

" Ye'r not scalped, then ! " gasped her lover. 

" No. I have no hesitation in saying that I am not ; but 
why this abruptness ? " responded Genevra. 

Bumpo could not speak, but frantically produced the 
silken tresses. Genevra turned her face aside. 

" Why, that's her waterfall ! " said the Judge. 

Bumpo sank fainting to the floor. 

The famous Pike chieftain never recovered from the 
deceit, and refused to marry Genevra, who died, twenty 
years afterwards, of a broken heart. Judge Tompkins lost 
his fortune in Wild Cat. The stage passes twice a week 
the deserted cottage at Donner Lake. Thus was the death- 
of Muck-a-Muck avenged. 



( 347 ) 



%tlim ©etiilia* 



BY MISS M. E. B — DD — N AND MRS. H — N — Y W — D. 



CHAPTER I. 

The sun was setting over Sloperton Grange, and reddened 
the window of the lonely chamber in the western tower, 
supposed to be haunted by Sir Edward Sedilia, the founder 
of the Grange. In the dreamy distance arose the gilded 
mausoleum of Lady Felicia Sedilia, who haunted that por- 
tion of Sedilia Manor known as " Stiff-uns Acre." A little 
to the left of the Grange might have been seen a moulder- 
ing ruin, known as " Guy's Keep," haunted by the spirit of 
Sir Guy Sedilia, who was found, one morning, crushed by 
one of the fallen battlements. Yet, as the setting sun 
gilded these objects, a beautiful and almost holy calm 
seemed diffused about the Grange. 

The Lady Selina sat by an oriel window overlooking the 
park. The sun sank gently in the bosom of the German 
Ocean, and yet the lady did not lift her beautiful head 
from the finely curved arm and diminutive hand which 
supported it. When darkness finally shrouded the land- 
scape she started, for the sound of horse-hoofs clattered 
over the stones of^the avenue. She had scarcely risen 
before an aristocratic young man fell on his knees before 
her. 

"My Selina!" - 



348 Selina Sedilia. 

"• Edgardo ! You here ? " 

"Yes, dearest." 

" And — you — you — have — seen nothing ? " said the lady 
in an agitated voice and nervous manner, turning her face 
aside to conceal her emotion. 

" Nothing — that is, nothing of any account," said Ed- 
gardo. " I passed the ghost of your aunt in the park, 
noticed the spectre of your uncle in the ruined keep, and 
observed the famihar features of the spirit of your great- 
grandfather at his usual post. But nothing beyond these 
trifles, my Selina. Nothing more, love, absolutely nothing." 

The young man turned his dark, liquid orbs fondly upon 
the ingenuous face of his betrothed. 

" My own Edgardo ! — and you still love me ? You still 
would marry me in spite of this dark mystery which sur- 
rounds me ? In spite of the fatal history of my race ? In 
spite of the ominous predictions of my aged nurse ? " 

" I would, Selina ; " and the young man passed his arm 
around her yielding waist. The two lovers gazed at each 
other's faces in unspeakable bliss. Suddenly Selina started. 

"Leave me, Edgardo! leave me! A mysterious some- 
thing — a fatal misgiving — a dark ambiguity — an equivocal 
mistrust oppresses me. I would be alone ! " 

The young man arose, and cast a loving glance on the 
lady. " Then we will be married on the seventeenth." 

"The seventeenth," repeated Selina, with a mysterious 
shudder. 

They embraced and parted. As the clatter of hoofs in 
the courtyard died away, the Lady Selina sank into the 
chair she had just quitted. 

" The seventeenth," she repeated slowly, with the same 
fateful shudder. " Ah ! — what if he should know that I 
have another husband living? Dare I reveal to him that 
I have two legitimate and three natural children ? Dare 



Selina Sedilia. 349 

I repeat to him the history of my youth ? Dare I confess 
that at the age of seven I poisoned my sister, by putting 
verdigris in her cream-tarts, — that I threw my cousin from 
a swing at the age of twelve? JThat the lady's-maid who 
incurred the displeasure of my girlhood now lies at the 
bottom of the horse-pond ? No ! no ! he is too pure, — too 
good, — too innocent, — to hear such improper conversa- 
tion ! " and her whole body writhed as she rocked to and 
fro in a paroxysm of grief. 

But she was soon calm. Rising to her feet, she opened 
a secret panel in the wall, and revealed a slow-match ready 
for lighting. 

" This match," said the Lady Selina, " is connected with 
a mine beneath the western tower, where my three children 
are confined; another branch of it Hes under the parish 
church, where the record of my first marriage is kept. I 
have only to light this match and the whole of my past life 
is swept away ! " She approached the match with a lighted 
candle. 

But a hand was laid upon her arm, and with a shriek the 
Lady Selina fell on her knees before the spectre of Sir Guy. 

CHAPTER 11. 

" Forbear, Selina," said the phantom in a hollow voice. 

*'Why should I forbear?" responded Selina haughtily, 
as she recovered her courage. " You know the secret of 
our race ? " 

" I do. ^ Understand me, — I do not object to the eccen- 
tricities of your youth. I know the fearful destiny which, 
pursuing you, led you to poison your sister and drown your 
lady's-maid. I know the awful doom which I have brought 
upon this house ! But if you make away with these chil- 
dren" 



350 Selina Sedilia, 

" Well," said the Lady Selina hastily. 

" They will haunt you ! " 

" Well, I fear them not," said Selina, drawing her superb 
figure to its full height. 

" Yes, but, my dear child, what place are they to haunt ? 
The ruin is sacred to your uncle's spirit. Your aunt mono- 
polises the park, and, I must be allowed to state, not unfre- 
quently trespasses upon the grounds of others. The horse- 
pond is frequented by the spirit of your maid, and your 
murdered sister walks these corridors. To be plain, there 
is no room at Sloperton Grange for another ghost. I cannot 
have them in my room, — for you know I don't like children. 
Think of this, rash girl, and forbear ! Would you, Selina," 
said the phantom mournfully, — " would you force your 
great-grandfather's spirit to take lodgings elsewhere ? " 

Lady Selina's hand trembled ; the lighted candle fell 
from her nerveless fingers. 

"No," she cried passionately; *' never!" and fell faint- 
ing to the floor. 

CHAPTER IIL 

Edgardo galloped rapidly towards Sloperton. When the 
outline of the Grange had faded away in the darkness, he 
reined his magnificent steed beside the ruins of Guy's 
Keep. 

" It wants but a few minutes of the hour," he said, con- 
sulting his watch by the light of the moon. " He dare not 
break his word. He will come." He paused, and peered 
anxiously into the darkness. " But come what may, she is 
mine," he continued, as his thoughts reverted fondly to the 
fair lady he had quitted. " Yet if she knew all. If she 
knew that I were a disgraced and ruined man, — a felon 
and an outcast. If she knew that at the age of fourteen I 



Selina Sedilia, 351 

murdered my Latin tutor and forged my uncle's will. If 
she knew that I had three wives already, and that the 
fourth victim of misplaced confidence and my unfortunate 
peculiarity is expected to be at Sloperton by to-night's train 
with her baby. But no ; she must not know it. Constance 
must not arrive ; Burke the Slogger must attend to that 

"Ha! here he is! Well?" 

These words were addressed to a ruflfian in a slouched 
hat, who suddenly appeared from Guy's Keep. 

" I be's here, measter," said the villain, with a disgracefully 
low accent and complete disregard of grammatical rules. 

" It is well. Listen : I'm in possession of facts that will 
send you to the gallows. I know of the murder of Bill 
Smithers, the robbery of the toll-gate-keeper, and the mak- 
ing away of the youngest daughter of Sir Reginald de 
Walton. A word from me, and the officers of justice are 
on your track." 

Burke the Slogger trembled. 

" Hark ye ! serve my purpose, and I may yet save you. 
The 5,30 train from Clapham will be due at Sloperton at 
9.25. // must not arrive ! " 

The villain's eyes sparkled as he nodded at Edgardo. 

" Enough, — you understand j leave me ! " 

CHAPTER IV. 

About half a mile from Sloperton Station the South Clap- 
ham and Medway line crossed a bridge over Sloperton-on- 
Trent. As the shades of evening were closing, a man in a 
slouched hat might have been seen carrying a saw and axe 
under his arm, hanging about the bridge. From time to 
time he disappeared in the shadow of its abutments, but 
the sound of a saw and axe still betrayed his vicinity. At 
exactly nine o'clock he reappeared, and crossing to the 



352 Selina Sediha. 

Sloperton side, rested his shoulder against the abutment 
and gave a shove. The bridge swayed a moment, and 
then fell with a splash into the water, leaving a space of 
one hundred feet between the two banks. This done, 
Burke the Slogger, — for it w^as he, — with a fiendish chuckle 
seated himself on the divided railway track and awaited 
the coming of the train. 

A shriek from the woods announced its approach. For 
an instant Burke the Slogger saw the glaring of a red lamp. 
The ground trembled. The train was going with fearful 
rapidity. Another second and it had reached the bank. 
Burke the Slogger uttered a fiendish laugh. But the next 
moment the train leaped across the chasm, striking the 
rails exactly even, and dashing out the life of Burke the 
Slogger, sped away to Sloperton. 

The first object that greeted Edgardo, as he rode up to 
the station on the arrival of the train, was the body of 
Burke the Slogger hanging on the cow-catcher; the second 
was the face of his deserted wife looking from the window- 
of a second-class carriage. 

CHAPTER V. 

A NAMELESS terror seemed to have taken possession of 
Clarissa, Lady Selina's maid, as she rushed into the pre- 
sence of her mistress. 

" Oh, my lady, such news ! " 

" Explain yourself," said her mistress, rising. 

"An accident has happened on the railway, and a man 
has been killed." 

"What — not Edgardo !" almost screamed Selina. 

" No, Burke the Slogger, your ladyship ! " 

*' My first husband!" said Lady Selina, sinking on her 
knees. "Just Heaven, I thank thee !" 



Selina Sedilia, 353 



CHAPTER VI. 

The morning of the seventeenth dawned brightly over 
Sloperton. "A fine day for the wedding," said the sexton 
to Swipes, the butler of Sloperton Grange. The aged 
retainer shook his head sadly. " Alas ! there's no trusting 
in signs!" he continued. "Seventy-five years ago, on a 

day like this, my young mistress " but he was cut short 

by the appearance of a stranger. 

"I would see Sir Edgardo," said the new-comer im- 
patiently. 

The bridegroom, who, with the rest of the wedding-train, 
was about stepping into the carriage to proceed to the 
parish church, drew the stranger aside. 

" It's done ! " said the stranger, in a hoarse whisper. 
"Ah ! and you buried her?" 
"With the others!" 

" Enough. No more at present. Meet me after the 
ceremony, and you shall have your reward." 

The stranger shuffled away, and Edgardo returned to his 
bride. *' A trifling matter of business I had forgotten, my 
dear Selina; let us proceed." And the young man pressed 
the timid hand of his blushing bride as he handed her into 
the carriage. The cavalcade rode out of the courtyard. 
At the same moment, the deep bell on Guy's Keep tolled 
ominously. 

CHAPTER Vn. 

Scarcely had the wedding-train left the Grange, than 
Alice Sedilia, youngest daughter of Lady Selina, made her 
escape from the western tower, owing to a lack of watch- 
fulness on the part of Clarissa. The innocent child, freed 
VOL. V. z 



354 Seltna Sedilia. 

from restraint, rambled through the lonely corridors, and 
finally, opening a door, found herself in her mother's 
boudoir. Yox some time she amused herself by examining 
the various ornaments and elegant trifles with which it was 
filled. Then, in pursuance of a childish freak, she dressed 
herself in her mother's laces and ribbons. In this occupa- 
tion she chanced to touch a peg which proved to be a 
spring that opened a secret panel in the wall. AHce uttered 
a cry of delight as she noticed what, to her childish fancy, 
appeared to be the slow-match of a firework. Taking a 
lucifer match in her hand she approached the fuse. She 
hesitated a moment. What would her mother and her 
nurse say? 

Suddenly the ringing of the chimes of Sloperton parish 
church met her ear. AHce knew that the sound signified 
that the marriage-party had entered the church, and that 
she was secure from interruption. With a childish smile 
upon her lips, Alice Sedilia touched off the slow-match. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

At exactly two o'clock on the seventeenth, iR.upert Sedilia, 
who had just returned from India, was thoughtfully de- 
scending the hill toward Sloperton manor. " If I can 
prove that my aunt, Lady Selina, was married before my 
father died, I can establish my claim to Sloperton Grange," 
he uttered, half aloud. He paused, for a sudden trembling 
of the earth beneath his feet, and a terrific explosion, as of 
a park of artillery, arrested his progress. At the same 
moment he beheld a dense cloud of smoke envelope the 
churchyard of Sloperton, and the western tower of the 
Grange seemed to be lifted bodily from its foundation. 
The air seemed filled with falling fragments, and two dark 
objects struck the earth close at his feet. Rupert picked 



Selina Sedilia. 355 

them up. One seemed to be a heavy volume bound in 
brass. 

A cry burst from his lips. 

"The Parish Records." He opened the volume hastily. 
It contained the marriage of Lady Selina to " Burke the 
Slogger." 

The second object proved to be a piece of parchment. 
He tore it open with trembling fingers. It was the missing 
will of Sir James Sedilia ! 



CHAPTER IX. 

When the bells again rang on the new parish church of 
Sloperton it was for the marriage of Sir Rupert Sedilia and 
his cousin, the only remaining members of the family. 

Five more ghosts were added to the supernatural popu- 
lation of Sloperton Grange. Perhaps this was the reason 
why Sir Rupert sold the property shortly afterward, and 
that for many years a dark shadow seemed to hang over 
the ruins of Sloperton Grange. 



( 356 ) 



Cije 30inetg=Ji3ine dPuarlismen. 



BY AL — X — D — R D — M- 



CHAPTER I. 



SHOWING THE QUALITY OF THE CUSTOMERS OF THE 
INNKEEPER OF PROVINS. 

\._TwENTY years after, the gigantic innkeeper of Provins 
stood looking at a cloud of dust on the highway. 

This cloud of dust betokened the approach of a traveller. 
Travellers had been rare that season on the highway 
between Paris and Provins. 

The heart of the innkeeper rejoiced. Turning to Dame 
Perigord, his wife, he said, stroking his white apron — 

" St. Denis ! make haste and spread the cloth. Add a 
bottle of Charlevoix to the table. This traveller, who rides 
so fast, by his pace must be a Mon seigneur." 

Truly the traveller, clad in the uniform of a musketeer, 
as he drew up to the door of the hostelry, did not seem to 
have spared his horse. Throwing his reins to the landlord, 
he leaped lightly to the ground. He was a young man of 
four-and-twenty, and spoke with a slight Gascon accent. 

" I am hungry, Morbleu I I wish to dine ! " 

The gigantic innkeeper bowed and led the way to a neat 
apartment, where a table stood covered with tempting 
viands. The musketeer at once set to work. Fowls, fish, 
and pates disappeared before him. Perigord sighed as 



The Nmety-Nine Guardsmen. 357 

he witnessed the devastations. Only once the stranger 
paused. 

" Wine ! " Perigord brought wine. The stranger drank 
a dozen bottles. Finally he rose to depart. Turning to 
the expectant landlord, he said — 

" Charge it." 

"To whom, your highness ? " said Perigord anxiously. 

" To his Eminence ! " 

" Mazarin ! " ejaculated the innkeeper. 

" The same. Bring me my horse," and the musketeer, 
remounting his favourite animal, rode away. 

The innkeeper slowly turned back into the inn. Scarcely 
had he reached the courtyard before the clatter of hoofs 
again called him to the doorway. A young musketeer of 
a light and graceful figure rode up. 

^^ FarbleUf my dear Perigord, I am famishing. What 
have you got for dinner ? " 

" Venison, capons, larks, and pigeons, your excellency," 
replied the obsequious landlord, bowing to the ground. 

" Enough ! " The young musketeer dismounted and 
entered the inn. Seating himself at the table replenished 
by the careful Perigord, he speedily swept it as clean as 
the first comer. 

"Some wine, my brave Perigord," said the graceful 
young musketeer, as soon as he could find utterance. 

Perigord brought three dozen of Charlevoix. The young 
man emptied them almost at a draught. 

" By-by, Perigord," he said lightly, waving his hand, as, 
preceding the astonished landlord, he slowly withdrew. 

"But, your highness, — the bill," said the astounded 
Perigord. 

"Ah, the bill. Charge it ! " 

"To whom?" 

" The Queen ! " 



358 The Ninety-Nine Guardsmen. 

"What, Madame?" 

"The same. Adieu, my good Perigord." And the 
graceful stranger rode away. An interval of quiet suc- 
ceeded, in which the innkeeper gazed wofully at his wife. 
Suddenly he was startled by a clatter of hoofs, and an 
aristocratic figure stood in the doorway. 

*' Ah," said the courtier good-naturedly. "What, do my 
eyes deceive me ? No, it is the festive and luxurious 
Perigord. Perigord, listen. I famish. I languish. I 
would dine." 

The innkeeper again covered the table with viands. 
Again it was swept clean as the fields of Egypt before the 
miraculous swarm of locusts. The stranger looked up. 

" Bring me another fowl, my Perigord." 

" Impossible, your excellency ; the larder is stripped 
clean." 

" Another flitch of bacon, then." 

" Impossible, your highness ; there is no more." 

?* Well, then, wine!" 

The landlord brought one hundred and forty-four bottles. 
The courtier drank them all. 

" One may drink if one cannot eat," said the aristocratic 
stranger good-humouredly. 

The innkeeper shuddered. 

The guest rose to depart. The innkeeper came slowly 
forward with his bill, to which he had covertly added the 
losses which he had suffered from the previous strangers. 

"Ah, the bill Charge it." 

" Charge it ! to whom ? " 

" To the King," said the guest. 

"What! his Majesty?" 

"Certainly. Farewell, Perigord." 

The innkeeper groaned. Then he went out and took 
down his sign. Then remarked to his wife — 



The Ninety- Nine Guardsmen. 359 

" I am a plain man, and don't understand politics. It 
seems, however, that the country is in a troubled state. 
Between his Eminence the Cardinal, his Majesty the King, 
and her Majesty the Queen, I am a ruined man." 

" Stay," said Dame Perigord, " I have an idea." 

*'And that is'.' 

" Become yourself a musketeer." ^\ 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE COMBAT. 

On leaving Provins the first musketeer proceeded to Nangis, 
where he was reinforced by thirty-three followers. The 
second musketeer, arriving at Nangis at the same moment, 
placed himself at the head of thirty-three more. The 
third guest of the landlord of Provins arrived at Nangis 
in time to assemble together thirty-three other musketeers. 

The first stranger led the troops of his Eminence. 

The second led the troops of the Queen. 

The third led the troops of the King. 

The fight commenced. It raged terribly for seven hours. 
The first musketeer killed thirty of the Queen's troops. 
The second musketeer killed thirty of the King's troops. 
The third musketeer killed thirty of his Eminence's troops. 

By this time it will be perceived the number of mus- 
keteers had been narrowed down to four on each side. 

Naturally the three principal warriors approached each 
other. 

They simultaneously uttered a cry. 

"Aramis!" 

^^Athos!" 

" D'Artagnan ! " 

They fell into each other's arms. 



360 The Ninety- Nine Guardsmen, 

" And it seems that we are fighting against each other, 
my children," said the Count de la Fere, mournfully. 

" How singular !" exclaimed Aramis and D'Artagnan. 

" Let us stop this fratricidal warfare," said Athos. 

" We will ! " they exclaimed together. 

" But how to disband our followers ?^' queried D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

Aramis winked. They understood each other. "Let 
us cut 'em down ! " 

They cut 'em down. Aramis killed three. D'Artagnan 
three. Athos three. 

The friends again embraced. *' How like old times," 
said Aramis. " How touching ! " exclaimed the serious and 
philosophic Count de la Fere. 

The galloping of hoofs caused them to withdraw from each 
other's embraces. A gigantic figure rapidly approached. 

" The innkeeper of Provins ! " they cried, drawing their 
swords. 

" Perigord, down with him 1" shouted D'Artagnan. 
~ " Stay," said Athos. 

The gigantic figure was beside them. He uttered a cry. 

*' Athos, Aramis, D'Artagnan !" 

" Porthos ! " exclaimed the astonished trio. 

" The same." They all fell in each other's arms. 

The Count de la Fere slowly raised his hands to Heaven. 
" Bless you ! Bless us, my children ! However different 
our opinion may be in regard to politics, we have but one 
opinion in regard to our own merits. Where can you find 
a better man than Aramis ? " 

" Than Porthos?" said Aramis. 

" Than D'Artagnan ? " said Porthos. 

" Than Athos ? " said D'Artagnan. 



The Ninety-Nine Guardsmen, 361 



CHAPTER III. 

SHOWING HOW THE KING OF FRANCE WENT UP A 
LADDER. 

LThe King descended into the garden. Proceeding cau- 
tiously along the terraced walk, he came to the wall imme- 
diately below the windows of Madame. To the left were 
two windows, concealed by vines. They opened into the 
apartments of La Valliere. 

The King sighed. 

" It is about nineteen feet to that window," said the King. 
" If I had a ladder about nineteen feet long, it would reach 
to that window. This is logic." 

Suddenly the King stumbled over something. "St. 
Denis ! " he exclaimed, looking down. It was a ladder, 
just nineteen feet long. 

The King placed it against the wall. In so doing, he 
fixed the lower end upon the abdomen of a man who lay con- 
cealed by the wall. The man did not utter a cry or wince. 
The King suspected nothing. He ascended the ladder. 

The ladder was too short. Louis the Grand was not a 
tall man. He was still two feet below the window. 

" Dear me ! " said the King. 

Suddenly the ladder was lifted two feet from below. 
This enabled the King to leap in the window. At the 
farther end of the apartment stood a young girl, with red 
hair and a lame leg. She was trembling with emotion. 

" Louise ! " 

"The King!" 

" Ah, my God, mademoiselle." 

"Ah, my God, sire." 

But a low knock at the door interrupted the lovers. The 
King uttered a cry of rage ; Louise one of despair. 



362 The Ninety -Nine Guardsmen, 

The door opened and D'Artagnan entered. 

"Good evening, sire," said the musketeer. 

The King touched a bell. Porthos appeared in the 
doorway. 

"Good evening, sire." 

" Arrest M. D'Artagnan." 

Porthos looked at D'Artagnan, and did not move. 

The King almost turned purple with rage. He again 
touched the bell. Athos entered. 

" Count, arrest Porthos and D'Artagnan." 

The Count de la Fere glanced at Porthos and D'Artagnan, 
and smiled sweetly. 

'' Sacre ! Where is Aramis ? " said the King violently. 

" Here, sire," and Aramis entered. 

"Arrest Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan." 

Aramis bowed and folded his arms. 

" Arrest yourself ! " 

Aramis did not move. 

The King shuddered and turned pale. " Am I not King 
of France ? " 

"Assuredly, sire, but we are also severally, Porthos, 
Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Athos." 

*' Ah ! " said the King. 

" Yes, sire." 

" What does this mean ? " 

" It means, your Majesty," said Aramis, stepping forward, 
" that your conduct as a married man is highly improper. 
I am an Abbe, and I object to these improprieties. My 
friends here, D'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, pure-minded 
young men, are also terribly shocked. Observe, sire, how 
they blush ! " 

Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan blushed. 

" Ah," said the King thoughtfully. " You teach me a 
lesson. You are devoted and noble young gentlemen, but 



The Ninety- Nine Guardsmen. 363 

your only weakness is your excessive modesty. From this 
moment I make you all Marshals and Dukes, with the 
exception of Aramis. 

" And me, sire ? " said Aramis. 

" You shall be an Archbishop ! " 

The four friends looked up and then rushed into each 
other's arms. The King embraced Louise de la Valliere, 
by way of keeping them company. A pause ensued. At 
last Athos spoke — 

" Swear, my children, that, next to yourselves, you will 
respect — the King of France \ and remember that ' Forty 
years after ' we will meet again." "] 



% 



( 364 ) 



BY CH — L — TTE BR — NTE. 
CHAPTER I. 

My earliest impressions are of a huge, misshapen rock, 
against which the hoarse waves beat unceasingly. On this 
rock three pelicans are standing in a defiant attitude. A 
dark sky lowers in the background, while two sea-gulls and 
a gigantic cormorant eye with extreme disfavour the floating 
corpse of a drowned woman in the foreground. A few 
bracelets, coral necklaces, and other articles of jewellery, 
scattered around loosely, complete this remarkable picture. 

It is one which, in some vague, unconscious way, 
symbolises, to my fancy, the character of a man. I have 
never been able to explain exactly why. I think I must 
have seen the picture in some illustrated volume when a 
baby, or my mother may have dreamed it before I w^as 
born. 

As a child I was not handsome. When I consulted the 
triangular bit of looking-glass which I always carried with 
me, it showed a pale, sandy, and freckled face, shaded by 
locks like the colour of seaweed when the sun strikes it in 
deep water. My eyes were said to be indistinctive ; they 
were a faint, ashen gray ; but above them rose — my only 
beauty — a high, massive, domelike forehead, with polished 
temples, like door-knobs of the purest porcelain. 



Miss Mix. 365 

Our family was a family of governesses. My mother 
had been one, and my sisters had the same occupation. 
Consequently, when, at the age of thirteen, my eldest sister 
hande.d me the advertisement of Mr. Rawjester, clipped 
from that day's Tvnes, I accepted it as my destiny. Never- 
theless, a mysterious presentiment of an indefinite future 
haunted me in my dreams that night, as I lay upon my 
little snow-white bed. The next morning, with two band- 
boxes tied up in silk handkerchiefs, and a hair trunk, I 
turned my back upon Minerva Cottage for ever. 



CHAPTER 11. 

Blunderbore Hall, the seat of James Rawjester, Esq., 
was encompassed by dark pines and funereal hemlocks on 
all sides. The wind sang weirdly in the turrets and moaned 
through the long-drawn avenues of the park. As I ap- 
proached the house I saw several mysterious figures flit 
before the windows, and a yell of demoniac laughter 
answered my summons at the bell. While I strove to 
repress my gloomy forebodings, the housekeeper, a timid, 
scared-looking old woman, showed me into the library. 

I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I was 
dressed in a narrow^ gown of dark serge, trimmed with 
black bugles. A thick green shawl was pinned across my 
breast. My hands were encased with black half-mittens 
worked with steel beads ; on my feet were large pattens, ori- 
ginally the property of my deceased grandmother. I carried 
a blue cotton umbrella. As I passed before a mirror I could 
not help glancing at it, nor could I disguise from myself 
the fact that I was not handsome. 

Drawing a chair into a recess, I sat down with folded 
hands, calmly awaiting the arrival of my master. Once or 



366 Miss Mix. 

twice a fearful yell rang through the house, or the rattling 
of chains, and curses uttered in a deep, manly voice, broke 
upon the oppressive stillness. I began to feel my soul 
rising with the emergency of the moment. 

" You look alarmed, miss. You don't hear anything, my 
dear, do you ? " asked the housekeeper nervously. 

"Nothing whatever," I remarked calmly, as a terrific 
scream, followed by the dragging of chairs and tables in 
the room above, drowned for a moment my reply. " It is 
the silence, on the contrary, which has made me foolishly 
nervous." 

The housekeeper looked at me approvingly, and instantly 
made some tea for me. 

I drank seven cups ; as I was beginning the eighth, I 
heard a crash, and the next moment a man leaped into the 
room through the broken window. 



CHAPTER III. 

The crash startled me from my self-control. The house- 
keeper bent toward me and whispered — 

"Don't be excited. It's Mr. Rawjester, — he prefers to 
come in sometimes in this way. It's his playfulness, ha ! 
ha! ha!" 

"I perceive," I said calmly. "It's the unfettered impulse 
of a lofty soul breaking the tyrannising bonds of custom." 
And I turned toward him. 

He had never once looked at me. He stood with his 
back to the fire, which set off the herculean breadth of his 
shoulders. His face was dark and expressive; his under 
jaw squarely formed, and remarkably heavy. I was struck 
with his remarkable likeness to a gorilla. 

As he absently tied the poker into hard knots with his 



Miss Mix. 367 

nervous fingers, I watched him with some interest. 
Suddenly he turned toward me — 

" Do you think I'm handsome, young woman ? " 

" Not classically beautiful," I returned calmly ; " but you 
have, if I may so express myself, an abstract manliness, — 
a sincere and wholesome barbarity which, involving as it 

does the naturalness " But I stopped, for he yawned at 

that moment, — an action which singularly developed the 
immense breadth of his lower jaw, — and I saw he had for- 
gotten me. Presently he turned to the housekeeper — 

"Leave us." 

The old woman withdrew with a curtsey. 

Mr. Rawj ester deliberately turned his back upon me and 
remained silent for twenty minutes. I drew my shawl the 
more closely around my shoulders and closed my eyes. 

" You are the governess ? " at length he said. 

"I am, sir." 

" A creature who teaches geography, arithmetic, and the 
use of the globes — ha ! — a wretched remnant of femininity, — 
a skimp pattern of girlhood with a premature flavour of tea- 
leaves and morality. Ugh ! " 

I bowed my head silently. 

"Listen to me, girl!" he said sternly; "this child you 
have come to teach — my ward — is not legitimate. She is 
the offspring of my mistress, — a common harlot. Ah ! 
Miss Mix, what do you think of me now ? " 

"I admire," I replied calmly, "your sincerity. A mawkish 
regard for delicacy might have kept this disclosure to your- 
self. I only recognise in your frankness that perfect^ com- 
munity of thought and sentiment which should exist between 
original natures." 

I looked up ; he had already forgotten my presence, and 
was engaged in pulling off his boots and coat. This done, 
he sank down in an arm-chair before the fire, and ran the 



368 Miss Mix. 

poker wearily through his hair. I could not help pitying 
him. 

The wind howled dismally without, and the rain beat 
furiously against the windows. I crept toward him and 
seated myself on a low stool beside his chair. 

Presently he turned, without seeing me, and placed his 
foot absently in my lap. I affected not to notice it. But 
he started and looked down. 

"You here yet — Carrothead? Ah, I forgot. Do you 
speak French?" 

*' Oui^ Monsieur. ^^ 

*'^ Taisez-vous .f^ he said sharply, with singular purity of 
accent. I complied. The wind m.oaned fearfully in the 
chimney, and the light burned dimly. I shuddered in spite 
of myself. " Ah, you tremble, girl ! " 

" It is a fearful night." 

" Fearful ! Call you this fearful, ha ! ha ! ha ! Look ! 
you wretched little atom, look 1 " and he dashed forward, 
and leaping out of the window, stood like a statue in the 
pelting storm, with folded arms. He did not stay long, 
but in a few minutes returned by way of the hall chimney. 
I saw from the way that he wiped hi? feet on my dress that 
he had again forgotten my presence. 

" You are a governess. What can you teach ? " he asked, 
suddenly and fiercely thrusting his face in mine. 

" Manners !" I replied calmly. 

"Ha! teach me!''' 

"You mistake yourself," I said, adjusting my mittens. 
" Your manners require not the artificial restraint of society. 
You are radically polite j this impetuosity and ferociousness 
is simply the sincerity which is the basis of a proper deport- 
ment. Your instincts are moral ; your better nature, I see, 
is religious. As St. Paul justly remarks — see chap. 6, 8, 
9, and iq" ^ 



Miss Mix. 369 

He seized a heavy candlestick, and threw it at me. I 
dodged it submissively but firmly. 

" Excuse me," he remarked, as his under jaw slowly 
relaxed. " Excuse me, Miss Mix — but I can't stand St. 
Paul ! Enough — you are engaged." 



Chapter iv. 

I FOLLOWED the housekeeper as she led the way timidly to 
my room. As we passed into a dark hall in the wing, I 
noticed that it was closed by an iron gate with a grating. 
Three of the doors on the corridor were likewise grated. 
A strange noise, as of shuffling feet and the howling of 
infuriated animals, rang through the hall. Bidding the 
housekeeper good-night, and taking the candle, I entered 
my bedchamber. 

I took off my dress, and putting on a yellow flannel 
nightgown, which I could not help feeling did not agree 
with my complexion, I composed myself to rest by reading 
'* Blair's Rhetoric" and "Paley's Moral Philosophy." I 
had just put out the light, when I heard voices in the 
corridor. I listened attentively. I recognised Mr. Raw- 
jester's stern tones. 

" Have you fed No. i ? " he asked. 

"Yes, sir," said a gruff voice, apparently belonging to a 
domestic. 

"How's No. 2?" 

" She's a little off her feed, just now, but will pick up 
in a day or two ! " 

"And No. 3?" 

" Perfectly furious, sir. Her tantrums are ungovernable." 

" Hush ! " 

The voices died away, and I sank into a fitful slumber. 

VOL. V. 2 A 



370 Miss Mix. 

I dreamed that I was wandering through a tropical 
forest. Suddenly I saw the figure of a gorilla approaching 
me. As it neared me, I recognised the features of Mr. 
Rawj ester. He held his hand to his side as if in pain. I 
saw that he had been wounded. He recognised me and 
called me by name, but at the same moment the vision 
changed to an Ashantee village, where, around the fire, a 
group of negroes were dancing and participating in some wild 
Ohi festival. I awoke with the strain still ringing in my 
ears. 

" Hokee-pokee wokee fum ! " 

"Good Heavens! could I be dreaming? I heard the 
voice distinctly on the floor below, and smelt something 
burning. I arose, with an indistinct presentiment of evil, 
and hastily putting some cotton in my ears and tying a 
towel about my head, I wrapped myself in a shawl and 
rushed downstairs. The door of Mr. Rawjester's room 
was open. I entered. 

Mr. Rawjester lay apparently in a deep slumber, from 
which even the clouds of smoke that came from the burn- 
ing curtains of his bed could not rouse him. Around the 
room a large and powerful negress, scantily attired, with her 
head adorned with feathers, was dancing wildly, accom- 
panying herself with bone castanets. It looked like some 
terrible y^//^//. 

I did not lose my calmness. After firmly emptying the 
pitcher, basin, and slop-jar on the burning bed, I proceeded 
cautiously to the garden, and returning with the garden- 
engine, I directed a small stream at Mr. Rawjester. 

At my entrance the gigantic negress fled. Mr. Raw- 
jester yawned and woke. I explained to him, as he rose 
dripping from the bed, the reason of my presence. He 
did not seem to be excited, alarmed, or discomposed. He 
gazed at me curiously. 



Miss Mix. 371 

" So you risked your life to save mine, eh ? you canary- 
coloured teacher of infants." 

I blushed modestly, and drew my shawl tightly over my 
yellow flannel nightgown. 

"You love me, Mary Jane, — don't deny it ! This trem- 
bling shows it ! " He drew me closely toward him, and 
said, with his deep voice tenderly modulated — 

"How's her pooty tootens, — did she get her'ittle tootens 
wet, — bess her.-"' 

I understood his allusion to my feet. I glanced down 
and saw that in my hurry I had put on a pair of his old 
india-rubbers. My feet were not small or pretty, and the 
addition did not add to their beauty. 

"Let me go, sir," I remarked quietly. "This is entirely 
improper ; it sets a bad example for your child." And I 
firmly but gently extricated myself from his grasp. I ap- 
proached the door. He seemed for a moment buried in 
deep thought. 

" You say this was a negress ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Humph, No. I, I suppose ? " 

" Who is Number One, sir ? " 

" MyT^r^/," he remarked, with a significant and sarcastic 
smile. Then, relapsing into his old manner, he threw his 
boots at my head, and bade me begone. I withdrew calmly. 



CHAPTER V. 

My pupil was a bright little girl, who spoke French with 
a perfect accent. Her mother had been a French ballet- 
dancer, which probably accounted for it. Although she was 
only six years old, it was easy to perceive that she had been 
several times in love. She once said to me — 



372 Miss Mix. 

" Miss Mix, did you ever have the grande passion? Did 
you ever feel a fluttering here ? " and she placed her hand 
upon her small chest, and sighed quaintly, "a kind of 
distaste for boiihoiis and caromels, when the world seemed as 
tasteless and hollow as a broken cordial drop." 

'' Then you have felt it, Nina ? " I said quietly. 

" Oh dear, yes. There was Buttons, — that was our page, 
you know, — I loved him dearly, but papa sent him away. 
Then there was Dick, the groom, but he laughed at me 
and I suffered misery ! " and she struck a tragic French 
attitude. " There is to be company here to-morrow," she 
added, rattling on with childish naivefe^ "and papa's sweet- 
heart — Blanche Marabout — is to be here. You know they 
say she is to be my mamma." 

What thrill was this shot through me ? But I rose calmly, 
and administering a slight correction to the child, left the 
apartment. 

Blunderbore House, for the next week, was the scene of 
gaiety and merriment. That portion of the mansion closed 
with a grating was walled up, and the midnight shrieks no 
longer troubled me. 

But I felt more keenly the degradation of my situation. 
I was obliged to help Lady Blanche at her toilet and help 
her to look beautiful. For what ? To captivate him ? 
Oh — no, no, — but why this sudden thrill and faintness? 
Did he really love her ? I had seen him pinch and swear 
at her. But I reflected that he had thrown a candlestick 
at my head, and my foolish heart was reassured. 

It was a night of festivity, when a sudden message 
obliged Mr. Rawj ester to leave his guests for a few hours. 
" Make yourselves merry, idiots," he added, under his 
breath, as he passed me. The door closed and he v/as 
gone. 

An half-hour passed. In the midst of the dancing a 



Miss Mix. 



373 



shriek was heard, and out of the swaying crowd of fainting 
women and excited men a wild figure strode into the room. 
One glance showed it to be a highwayman, heavily armed, 
holding a pistol in each hand. 

** Let no one pass out of this room ! " he said, in a voice 
of thunder. "The house is surrounded and you cannot 
escape. The first one who crosses yonder threshold will 
be shot like a dog. Gentlemen, I'll trouble you to approach 
in single file, and hand me your purses and watches." 

Finding resistance useless, the order was ungraciously 
obeyed. 

"Now, ladies, please to pass upyour jewellery and trinkets." 

This order was still more ungraciously complied with. 
As Blanche handed to the bandit captain her bracelet, she 
endeavoured to conceal a diamond necklace, the gift of 
Mr. Rawjester, in her bosom. But, with a demoniac grin, 
the powerful brute tore it from its concealment, and 
administering a hearty box on the ear of the young girl, 
flung her aside. 

It was now my turn. With a beating heart I made my 
way to the robber chieftain, and sank at his feet. " O sir, 
I am nothing but a poor governess, pray let me go." 

" O ho ! A governess ? Give me your last month's 
wages, then. Give me what you have stolen from your 
master ! " and he laughed fiendishly. 

I gazed at him quietly, and said, in a low voice : " I 
have stolen nothing from you, Mr. Rawj ester ! " 

" Ah, discovered ! Hush ! listen, girl 1 " he hissed, in a 
fierce whisper, " utter a syllable to frustrate my plans and 
you die ; aid me, and " But he was gone. 

In a few moments the party, with the exception of myself, 
were gagged and locked in the cellar. The next moment 
torches were apphed to the rich hangings, and the house 
was in flames. I felt a strong hand seize me, and bear me 



374 ^^^^ Mix, 

out in the open air and place me up on the hillside, where 
I could overlook the burning mansion. It was Mr, 
Rawj ester. 

" Burn ! " he said, as he shook his fist at the flames. 
Then sinking on his knees before me, he said hurriedly — 

" Mary Jane, I love you ; the obstacles to our union are 
or will be soon removed. In yonder mansion were confined 
my three crazy wives. One of them, as you know, 
attempted to kill me ! Pla ! this is vengeance ! But will 
you be mine ? " 

I fell, without a word, upon his neck. 



( 375 ) 



A NAVAL OFFICER, 

BY CAPTAIN M — RRY — T, R.N. 

CHAPTER I. 

My father was a north-country surgeon. He had retired, 
a widower, from her Majesty's navy many years before, and 
had a small practice in his native village. When I was 
seven years old he employed me to carry medicines to his 
patients. Being of a lively disposition, I sometimes amused 
myself, during my daily rounds, by mixing the contents of 
the different phials. Although I had no reason to doubt 
that the general result of this practice was beneficial, yet, 
as the death of a consumptive curate followed the addition 
of a strong mercurial lotion to his expectorant, my father 
concluded to withdraw me from the profession and send 
me to school. 

Grubbins, the schoolmaster, was a tyrant, and it was not 
long before my impetuous and self-willed nature rebelled 
against his authority. I soon began to form plans of 
revenge. In this I was assisted by Tom Snaffle, — a school- 
fellow. One day Tom suggested — 

"Suppose we blow him up. I've got two pounds of 
powder ! " 

" No, that's too noisy," I replied. 

Tom was silent for a minute, and again spoke — 



'^'](i Mr. Midshipman Breezy. 

" You remember how you flattened out the curate, Pills ! 
Couldn't you give Grubbins something — something to make 
him leathery sick — eh ? " 

A flash of inspiration crossed my mind. I went to the 
shop of the village apothecary. He knew me ; I had often 
purchased vitriol, which I poured into Grubbins's inkstand 
to corrode his pens and burn up his coat-tail, on which he 
was in the habit of wiping them. I boldly asked for an 
ounce of chloroform. The young apothecary winked and 
handed me the bottle. 

It was Grubbins's custom to throw his handkerchief over 
his head, recline in his chair and take a short nap during 
recess. Watching my opportunity, as he dozed, I managed 
to slip his handkerchief from his face and substitute my 
own, moistened with chloroform. In a few minutes he was 
insensible. Tom and I then quickly shaved his head, 
beard, and eyebrows, blackened his face with a mixture of 
vitriol and burnt cork, and fled. There was a row and 
scandal the next day. My father always excused me by 
asserting that Grubbins had got drunk, — but somehow 
found it convenient to procure me an appointment in her 
Majesty's navy at an early day. 



CHAPTER 11. 

An official letter, with the Admiralty seal, informed me 
that I was expected to join H. M. ship Belcher, Captain 
Boltrope, at Portsmouth, without delay. In a few days I 
presented myself to a tall, stern- visaged man, who was 
slowly pacing the leeward side of the quarter-deck. As I 
touched my hat he eyed me sternly — 

" So ho ! Another young suckling. The service is 
going to the devil. Nothing but babes in the cockpit and 



Mr. Midshipman Breezy. 2>77 

grannies in the board. Boatswain's mate, pass the word 
for Mr. Cheek!" 

Mr. Cheek, the steward, appeared and touched his hat. 

" Introduce Mr. Breezy to the young gentlemen. Stop ! 
Where's Mr. Swizzle?" 

"At the masthead, sir." 

"Where's Mr. Lankey?" 

"At the masthead, sir.'* 

"Mr. Briggs?" 

"Masthead, too, sir." 

" And the rest of the young gentlemen ? " roared the 
enraged officer. 

"All masthead, sir." 

" Ah ! " said Captain Boltrope, as he smiled grimly, 
"under the circumstances, Mr. Breezy, you had better go 
to the masthead too." 



CHAPTER III. 

At the masthead I made the acquaintance of two youngsters 
of about my own age, one of whom informed me that he 
had been there three hundred and thirty-two days out of 
the year. 

" In rough weather, when the old cock is out of sorts, 
you know, we never come down," added a young gentle- 
man of nine years, with a dirk nearly as long as himself, 
who had been introduced to me as Mr. Briggs. " By the 
way, Pills," he continued, "how did you come to omit 
giving the captain a naval salute ? " 

"Why, I touched my hat," I said innocently. 

"Yes, but that isn't enough, you knpw. That will do 
very well at other times. He expects the naval salute 
when you first come on board — greeny ! " 



378 Mr, Midshipman Breezy. 

I began to feel alarmed, and begged him to explain. 

" Why, you see, after touching your hat, you should have 
touched him lightly with your forefinger in his waistcoat, 
so, and asked, ' How's his nibs ? ' — you see ? " 

" How's his nibs ? " I repeated. 

" Exactly. He would have drawn back a little, and 
then you should have repeated the salute remarking, 
* How's his royal nibs ? ' asking cautiously after his wife 
and family, and requesting to be introduced to the gunner's 
daughter." 

" The gunner's daughter ? " 

" The same ; you know she takes care of us young 
gentlemen ; now don't forget, Pillsy ! " ■ 

When we were called down to the deck I thought it a 
good chance to profit by this instruction. I approached 
Captain Boltrope and repeated the salute without consci- 
entiously omitting a single detail. He remained for a 
moment livid and speechless. At length he gasped 
out — 

" Boatswain's mate ? " 

" If you please, sir," I asked tremulously, " I should like 
to be introduced to the gunner's daughter ! " 

" Oh, very good, sir ! " screamed Captain Boltrope, rub- 
bing his hands and absolutely capering about the deck with 
rage. " Oh, d — n you ! Of course you shall ! Oh, ho ! the 
gunner's daughter ! Oh, h — 11 ! this is too much ! Boat- 
swain's mate 1 " Before I well knew where I was, I was 
seized, borne to an eight-pounder, tied upon it and 
flogged ! 



Mr. Midshipman Breezy. 379 



CHAPTER IV. 

As we sat together in the cockpit, picking the weevils out 
of our biscuit, Briggs consoled me for my late mishap, 
adding that the "naval salute," as a custom, seemed just 
then to be honoured more in the breach than the observ- 
ance. I joined in the hilarity occasioned by the witticism, 
and in a few moments we were all friends. Presently 
Swizzle turned to me — 

*'We have just been planning how to confiscate a keg 
of claret, which Nips, the purser, keeps under his bunk. 
The old nipcheese lies there drunk half the day, and there's 
no getting at it." 

" Let's get beneath the state-room and bore through the 
deck, and so tap it," said Lankey. 

The proposition was received with a shout of applause. 
A long half-inch auger and bit was procured from Chips, 
the carpenter's mate, and Swizzle, after a careful examina- 
tion of the timbers beneath the wardroom, commenced 
operations. The auger at last disappeared, when suddenly 
there was a slight disturbance on the deck above. Swizzle 
withdrew the auger hurriedly ; from its point a few bright 
red drops trickled. 

" Huzza ! send her up again !" cried Lankey. 

The auger was again applied. This time a shriek was 
heard from the purser's cabin. Instantly the light was 
doused, and the party retreated hurriedly to the cockpit. 
A sound of snoring was heard as the sentry stuck his head 
into the door. " All right, sir," he replied in answer to the 
voice of the officer of the deck. 

The next morning we heard that Nips was in the 
surgeon's hands, with a bad wound in the fleshy part of his 
leg, and that the auger had not struck claret. 



380 Mr, Midshipman B7'eezy. 



CHAPTER V. 

"Now, Pills, you'll have a chance to smell powder," said 
Briggs as he entered the cockpit and buckled around his 
waist an enormous cutlass. "We have just sighted a 
French ship." 

We went on deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as we 
touched our hats. He hated the purser. " Come, young 
gentlemen, if you're boring for French claret, yonder's a 
good quality. Mind your con, sir," he added, turning to 
the quartermaster, who was grinning. 

The ship was already cleared for action. The men, in 
their eagerness, had started the coffee from the tubs and 
filled them with shot. Presently the Frenchman yawed, 
and a shot from a long thirty-two came skipping over the 
water. It killed the quartermaster and took off both of 
Lankey's legs. " Tell the purser our account is squared," 
said the dying boy, with a feeble smile. 

The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember 
killing the French admiral, as we boarded, but on looking 
around for Briggs, after the smoke had cleared away, I 
was intensely amused at witnessing the following novel 
sight — 

Briggs had pinned the French captain against the mast 
with his cutlass, and was now engaged, with all the hilarity 
of youth, in pulling the Captain's coat-tails between his 
legs, in imitation of a dancing-jack. As the Frenchman 
lifted his legs and arms, at each jerk of Briggs's, I could 
not help participating in the general mirth. 

" You young devil, what are you doing ? " said a stifled 
voice behind me. I looked up and beheld Captain Bolt- 
rope, endeavouring to calm his stern features, but the twitch- 
ing around his mouth betrayed his intense enjoyment of the 



Mr. Midshipman Breezy. 381 

scene. " Go to the masthead — up with you, sir ! " he re- 
peated sternly to Briggs. 

''Very good, sir," said the boy, coolly preparing to 
mount the shrouds. " Good-bye, Johnny Crapaud. 
Humph!" he added, in a tone intended for my ear, "a 
pretty way to treat a hero. The service is going to the 
devil ! " 

I thought so too. 



CHAPTER VI. 

We were ordered to the West Indies. Although Captain 
Boltrope's manner toward me was still severe, and even 
harsh, I understood that my name had been favourably 
mentioned in the despatches. 

Reader, were you ever at Jamaica ? If so, you remember 
the negresses, the oranges, Port Royal Tom — the yellow 
fever. After being two weeks at the station, I was taken 
sick of the fever. In a month I was delirious. During my 
paroxysms, I had a wild distempered dream of a stern face 
bending anxiously over my pillow, a rough hand smoothing 
my hair, and a kind voice saying — 

"Bess his 'ittle heart ! Did he have the naughty fever?" 
This face seemed again changed to the well-known stern 
features of Captain Boltrope. 

When I was convalescent, a packet edged in black was 
put in my hand. It contained the news of my father's death, 
and a sealed letter which he had requested to be given to 
me on his decease. I opened it tremblingly. It read 
thus — 

*' My dear Boy, — I regret to inform you that in all pro- 
bability you are not my son. Your mother, I am grieved 
to say, was a highly improper person. Who your father 



382 Mr. Midshipman Bi^eezy. 

may be, I really cannot say, but perhaps the Honourable 
Henry Boltrope, Captain R.N., may be able to inform you. 
Circumstances over which I have no control have deferred 
this important disclosure. 

" Your Stricken Parent." 

And so Captain Boltrope was my father. Heavens ! 
Was it a dream ? I recalled his stern manner, his obser- 
vant eye, his ill-concealed uneasiness when in my presence. 
I longed to embrace him. Staggering to my feet, I rushed 
in my scanty apparel to the deck, where Captain Boltrope 
was just then engaged in receiving the Governor's wife and 
daughter. The ladies shrieked ; the youngest, a beautiful 
girl, blushed deeply. Heeding them not, I sank at his feet, 
and, embracing them, cried — 

" My father ! " 

" Chuck him overboard ! " roared Captain Boltrope. 

"Stay," pleaded the soft voice of Clara Maitland, the 
Governor's daughter. 

" Shave his head ! he's a wretched lunatic ! " continued 
Captain Boltrope, while his voice trembled with excite- 
ment. 

" No, let me nurse and take care of him," said the lovely 
girl, blushing as she spoke. " Mamma, can't we take him 
home?" 

The daughter's pleading was not without effect. In the 
meantime I had fainted. When I recovered my senses I 
found myself in Governor Maitland's mansion. 



Mr. Midshipman Breezy. 383 



CHAPTER VII. 

The reader will guess what followed. I fell deeply in 
love with Clara Maitland, to whom I confided the secret of 
my birth. The generous girl asserted that she had detected 
the superiority of my manner at once. We plighted our 
troth, and resolved to wait upon events. 

Briggs called to see me a few days afterward. He said 
that the purser had insulted the whole cockpit, and all the 
midshipmen had called him out. But he added thought- 
fully : " I don't see how we can arrange the duel. You see 
there are six of us to fight him." 

"Very easily," I rephed. " Let your fellows all stand in 
a row, and take his fire \ that, you see, gives him six 
chances to one, and he must be a bad shot if he can't hit 
one of you ; while, on the other hand, you see, he gets a 
volley from you six, and one of you'll be certain to fetch 
him." 

"Exactly;" and away Briggs went, but soon returned to 
say that the purser had declined, — " Hke a d — d coward," 
he added. 

But the news of the sudden and serious illness of Captain 
Boltiope put off the duel. I hastened to his bedside, but 
too late, — an hour previous he had given up the ghost. 

I resolved to return to England. I made known the 
secret of my birth, and exhibited my adopted father's letter 
to Lady Maitland, who at once suggested my marriage with 
her daughter, before I returned to claim the property. We 
were married, and took our departure next day. 

I made no delay in posting at once, in company with my 
wife and my friend Briggs, to my native village. Judge of 
my horror and surprise when my late adopted father came 
out of his shop to welcome me. 



384 Mr. Midshipman Breezy, 

" Then you are not dead ! " I gasped 

" No, my dear boy." 

"And this letter?" 

My father — as I must still call him — glanced on the 
paper, and pronounced it a forgery. Briggs roared with 
laughter. I turned to him and demanded an explanation. 

" Why, don't you see, Greeny, it's all a joke, — a midship- 
man's joke ! " 

" But " I asked. 

" Don't be a fool. You've got a good wife, — be 
satisfied." 

I turned to Clara, and was satisfied. Although Mrs. 
Maitland never forgave me, the jolly old Governor laughed 
heartily over the joke, and so well used his influence that 
I soon became, dear reader, Admiral Breezy, K.C.B. 



( 3^5 ) 



(0ug JpeatigiB^tone; 

OR, 

" ENTIRE." 

A MUSCULAR NOVEL. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " SWORD AND GUN.' 

CHAPTER I. 



A DINGY, swashy, splashy afternoon in October ; a school- 
yard filled with a mob of riotous boys. A lot of us 
standing outside. 

Suddenly came a dull, crashing sound from the school- 
room. At the ominous interruption I shuddered involun- 
tarily, and called to Smithsye- — 

" What's up, Smithums ? " 

" Guy's cleaning out the fourth form," he replied. 

At the same moment George de Coverly passed me, 
holding his nose, from whence the bright Norman blood 
streamed redly. To him the plebeian Smithsye laugh- 
ingly— 

"Cully! how's his nibs ?'* 

I pushed the door of the schoolroom open. There are 
some spectacles which a man never forgets. The burning 
of Troy probably seemed a large-sized conflagration to the 

VOL. V. 2 B 



386 Guy Heavy stone. 

pious ^neas, and made an impression on him wliich he 
carried away with the feeble Anchises. 

In the centre of tlie room, lightly brandishing the piston- 
rod of a steam-engine, stood Guy Heavystone alone. I 
say alone, for the pile of small boys on the floor in the 
corner could hardly be called company. 

I will try and sketch him for the reader. Guy Heavy- 
stone was then only fifteen. His broad, deep chest, his 
sinewy and quivering flank, his straight pastern, showed 
him to be a thorough-bred. Perhaps he was a trifle heavy 
in the fetlock, but he held his head haughtily erect. His 
eyes were glittering but pitiless. There was a sternness 
about the lower part of his face, — the old Heavystone look, 
— a sternness, heightened, perhaps, by the snafile-bit which, 
in one of his strange freaks, he wore in his mouth to curb 
his occasional ferocity. His dress was well adapted to 
his square-set and herculean frame. A striped knit under- 
shirt, close-fitting striped tights, and a few spangles set off 
his figure ; a neat Glengarry cap adorned his head. On it 
was displayed the Heavystone crest, a cock regardant on 
a dunghill or^ and the motto, " Devil a better ! " 

I thought of Horatius on the bridge, of Hector before 
the walls. I always make it a point to think of something 
classical at such times. 

He saw me, and his sternness partly relaxed. Something 
like a smile struggled through his grim lineaments. It 
was like looking on the Jungfrau after having seen Mont 
Blanc, — a trifle, only a trifle less sublime and awful. Rest- 
ing his hand lightly on the shoulder of the head-master, 
who shuddered and collapsed under his touch, he strode 
toward me. 

His walk was peculiar. You could not ^call it a stride. 
It was like the " crest-tossing Bellerophon," — a kind of 
prancing gait. Guy Heavystone pranced toward me. 



Guy Heavy stone, ^i^'^ 



CHAPTER II. 

" Lord Lovel he stood at the garden gate, 
A-combing his milk-white steed." 

It was the winter of i86 — when I next met Guy Heavy- 
stone. He had left the University and had entered the 
79th " Heavies." " I have exchanged the gown for the 
sword, you see," he said, grasping my hand, and fracturing 
the bones of my little finger, as he shook it. 

I gazed at him with unmixed admiration. He was 
squarer, sterner, and in every way smarter and more 
remarkable than ever. I began to feel toward this man as 
Phalaster felt towards Phyrgino, as somebody must have felt 
toward Archididasculus, as Boswell felt toward Johnson. 

" Come into my den," he said, and lifting me gently by 
the seat of my pantaloons he carried me upstairs and 
deposited me, before I could apologise, on the sofa. I 
looked around the room. It was a bachelor's apartment, 
characteristically furnished in the taste of the proprietor. 
A few claymores and battleaxes were ranged against the 
wall, and a culverin, captured by Sir Ralph Heavystone, 
occupied the corner, the other end of the room being taken 
up by a light batter3^ Foils, boxing-gloves, saddles, and 
fishing-poles lay around carelessly. A small pile of billets- 
doux lay upon a silver salver. The man was not an 
anchorite, nor yet a Sir Galahad. 

I never could tell what Guy thought of women. "Poor 
little beasts," he would often say when the conversation 
turned on any of his fresh conquests. Then, passing his 
hand over his marble brow, the old look of stern fixedness 
of purpose and unflinching severity would straighten the 
lines of his mouth, and he would mutter, half to himself, 
" S'death ! " 



388 Guy Heavy stone, 

" Come with me to Heavystone Grange. The Exmoor 
Hounds throw off to-morrow. I'll give you a mount," he 
said, as he amused himself by roUing up a silver candle- 
stick between his fingers. "You shall have Cleopatra. 
But stay," he added thoughtfully; "now I remember, I 
ordered Cleopatra to be shot this morning." 

" And why ? " I queried. 

" She threw her rider yesterday and fell on him " 

" And killed him ? " 

" No. That's the reason why I have ordered her to be 
shot. I keep no animals that are not dangerous — I should 
add — deadly!" He hissed the last sentence between his 
teeth, and a gloomy frown descended over his calm brow. 

I affected to turn over the tradesmen's bills that lay on 
the table, for, like all of the Heavystone race, Guy seldom 
paid cash, and said — 

" You remind me of the time when Leonidas " 

" Oh, bother Leonidas and your classical allusions. 
Come ! " 

We descended to dinner. 



CHAPTER HI. 

" He carries weight, he rides a race, 
'Tis for a thousand pound." 

"There is Flora Billingsgate, the greatest coquette and 
hardest rider in the country," said my companion, Ralph 
Mortmain, as we stood upon Dingleby Common before the 
meet. 

I looked up and beheld Guy Heavystone bending 
haughtily over the saddle, as he addressed a beautiful 
brunette. She was indeed a splendidly groomed and high- 
spirited woman. We were near enough to overhear the 
following conversation, which any high-toned reader will 



Guy Heavy stone. 389 

recognise as the common and natural expression of the 
higher classes. 

" When Diana takes the field the chase is not wholly- 
confined to objects ferce. natures" said Guy, darting a sig- 
nificant glance at his companion. Flora did not shrink either 
from the glance or the meaning implied in the sarcasm. 

" If I were looking for an Endymion, now " — she said 
archly, as she playfully cantered over a few hounds and 
leaped a five-barred gate. 

Guy whispered a few words, inaudible to the rest of the 
party, and curvetting slightly, cleverly cleared two of the 
huntsmen in a flying leap, galloped up the front steps of 
the mansion, and dashing at full speed through the hall 
leaped through the drawing-room window and rejoined me, 
languidly, on the lawn. 

" Be careful of Flora BilHngsgate," he said to me, in low 
stern tones, while his pitiless eye shot a baleful fire. 
" Gardez vous / " 

" Gnothi seaufoft" I replied calmly, not wishing to appear 
to be behind him in perception or verbal felicity. 

Guy started off in high spirits. He was well carried. 
He and the first whip, a ten-stone man, were head and 
head at the last fence, while the hounds were rolling over 
their fox a hundred yards farther in the open. 

But an unexpected circumstance occurred. Coming 
back, his chestnut mare refused a ten-foot wall. She 
reared and fell backward. Again he led her up to it 
lightly ; again she refused, falling heavily from the coping. 
Guy started to his feet. The old pitiless fire shone in his 
eyes; the old stern look settled around his mouth. Seizing 
the mare by the tail and mane he threw her over the wall. 
She landed twenty feet on the other side, erect and trem- 
bling. Lightly leaping the same obstacle himself, he 
remounted her. She did not refuse the wall the next time. 



390 Guy Heavy stone. 



CHAPTER IV. 

" He holds him by his glittering eye." 

Guy was in the North of Ireland, cock-shooting. So 
Ralph Mortmain told me, and also that the match between 
Mary Brandagee and Guy had been broken off by Flora 
Billingsgate. " I don't like those Billingsgates," said Ralph, 
** they're a bad stock. Her father, Smithfield de Billings- 
gate, had an unpleasant way of turning up the knave from 
the bottom of the pack. But nous verrons ; let us go and 
see Guy." 

The next morning we started for Fin-ma-Coul's Crossing. 
When I reached the shooting-box, where Guy was enter- 
taining a select company of friends, Flora BilHngsgate 
greeted me with a saucy smile. 

Guy was even squarer and sterner than ever. His gusts 
of passion were more frequent, and it was with difficulty 
that he could keep an able-bodied servant in his family. 
His present retainers were more or less maimed from 
exposure to the fury of their master. There was a strange 
cynicism, a cutting sarcasm in his address, piercing through 
his polished manner. I thought of Timon, &c., &c. 

One evening, we were sitting over our Chambertin, after 
a hard day's work, and Guy was listlessly turning over 
some letters, when suddenly he uttered a cry. Did you 
ever hear the trumpeting of a wounded elephant ? It was 
like that. 

I looked at him with consternation. He was glancing 
at a letter which he held at arm's length, and snorting, as 
it were, at it as he gazed. The lower part of his face was 
stern, but not as rigid as usual. He was slowly grinding 
between his teeth the fragments of the glass he had just 
been drinking from. Suddenly he seized one of his ser- 



Guy Heavystone. 391 

vants, and forcing the wretch upon his knees, exclaimed, 
with the roar of a tiger — 

" Dog ! why was this kept from me ? " 

"Why, please sir, Miss Flora said as how it was a 
reconciliation from Miss Brandagee, and it was to be kept 
from you where you would not be likely to see it, ^— and — 
and " 

" Speak, dog ! and you " 

*' I put it among your bills, sir ! " 

With a groan, like distant thunder, Guy fell swooning 
to the floor. 

He soon recovered, for the next moment a servant came 
rushing into the room with the information that a number 
of the ingenuous peasantry of the neighbourhood were 
about to indulge that evening in the national pastime of 
burning a farmhouse and shooting a landlord. Guy smiled 
a fearful smile, without, however, altering his stern and 
pitiless expression. 

" Let them come," he said calmly ; " I feel like entertain- 
ing company." 

We barricaded the doors and windows, and then chose 
our arms from the armoury. Guy's choice was a singular 
one : it was a landing net with a long handle, and a sharp 
cavalry sabre. 

We were not destined to remain long in ignorance of its 
use. A howl was heard from without, and a party of fifty 
or sixty armed men precipitated themselves against the 
door. 

Suddenly the window opened. With the rapidity of 
lightning, Guy Heavystone cast the net over the head of 
the ringleader, ejaculated " Habet ! " and with a back stroke 
of his cavalry sabre severed the member from its trunk, 
and drawing the net back again, cast the gory head upon 
the floor, saying quietly — 



392 Guy Heavy stone. 

" One." 

Again the net was cast, the steel flashed, the net was 
withdrawn, and an ominous " Two ! " accompanied tlie 
head as it rolled on the floor. 

" Do you remember what Pliny says of the gladiator ? " 
said Guy, calmly wiping his sabre. " How graphic is that 
passage commencing ^ Inter nos, Qr^^J" The sport con- 
tinued until the heads of twenty desperadoes had been 
gathered in. The rest seemed inclined to disperse. Guy 
incautiously showed himself at the door ; a ringing shot 
was heard, and he staggered back, pierced through the 
heart. Grasping the door-post in the last unconscious 
throes of his mighty frame, the whole side of the house 
yielded to that earthquake tremor, and we had barely time 
to escape before the whole building fell in ruins. I thought 
of Samson, the Giant Judge, &c., &c. ; but all was over. 

Guy Heavystone had died as he had lived, — ka^^cf. 



( 393 ) 



' OR, 
THE SMOKER REFORMED. 

BY T. S. A — TH — R. 

CHAPTER I. 

" One cigar a day ! " said Judge Boompointer. 

"One cigar a day!" repeated John Jenkins, as with 
trepidation he dropped his half-consumed cigar under his 
work-bench. 

" One cigar a day is three cents a day," remarked Judge 
Boompointer gravely ; " and do you know, sir, what one 
cigar a day, or three cents a day, amounts to in the course 
of four years ? " 

John Jenkins, in his boyhood, had attended the village 
school, and possessed considerable arithmetical ability. 
Taking up a shingle which lay upon his work-bench, and 
producing a piece of chalk, with a feeling of conscious pride 
he made an exhaustive calculation. 

" Exactly forty-three dollars and eighty cents," he replied, 
waping the perspiration from his heated brow, while his face 
flushed with honest enthusiasm. 

" Well, sir, if you saved three cents a day, instead of 
wasting it, you would now be the possesser of a new suit of 
clothes, an illustrated Family Bible, a pew in the church, a 
complete set of Patent Office Reports, a hymn-book, and a 
paid subscription to 'Arthur's Home Magazine,' which 



394 John Jenkins, 

could be purchased for exactly forty-three dollars and eighty 
cents j and," added the Judge, with increasing sternness, " if 
you calculate leap-year, which you seem to have strangely 
omitted, you have three cents more, sir ; three cents more ! 
What would that buy you, sir ? " 

" A cigar," suggested John Jenkins ; but, colouring again 
deeply, he hid his face. 

" No, sir," said the Judge, with a sweet smile of bene- 
volence stealing over his stern features ; " properly invested, 
it would buy you that which passeth all price. Dropped 
into the missionary-box, who can tell what heathen, now 
idly and joyously wantoning in nakedness and sin, might 
be brought to a sense of his miserable condition, and 
made, through that three cents, to feel the torments of the 
wicked ? " 

With these words the Judge retired, leaving John Jenkins 
buried in profound thought. "Three cents a day," he 
muttered. " In forty years I might be worth four hundred 
and thirty-eight dollars and ten cents, — and then I might 
marry Mary. Ah, Mary ! " The young carpenter sighed, 
and drawing a twenty-five cent daguerreotype from his 
vest-pocket, gazed long and fervidly upon the features of a 
young girl in book muslin and a coral necklace. Then, 
with a resolute expression, he carefully locked the door of 
his work-shop and departed. 

Alas ! his good resolutions were too late. We trifle with 
the tide of fortune which too often nips us in the bud and 
casts the dark shadow of misfortune over the bright lexicon 
of youth ! That night the half-consumed fragment of John 
Jenkins's cigar set fire to his work-shop and burned it up, 
together with all his tools and materials. There was no 
insurance. 



John Jenkins. 395 



CHAPTER II. 

THE DOWNWARD PATH. 

" Then you still persist in marrying John Jenkins ? " queried 
Judge Boompointer, as he playfully, with paternal familiarity, 
lifted the golden curls of the village belle, Mary Jones. 

" I do," replied the fair youn^ girl, in a low voice, that 
resembled rock candy in its saccharine firmness, — ■" I do. 
He has promised to reform. Since he lost all his property 
by fire" 

" The result of his pernicious habit, though he illogically 
persists in charging it to me," interrupted the Judge. 

" Since then," continued the young girl, " he has 
endeavoured to break himself off the habit. He tells me 
that he has substituted the stalks of the Indian ratan, the 
outer part of a leguminous plant called the smoking-bean, 
and the fragmentary and unconsumed remainder of cigars 
which occur at rare and uncertain intervals along the road, 
which, as he informs me, though deficient in quality and 
strength, are comparatively inexpensive." And blushing 
at her own eloquence, the young girl hid her curls on the 
Judge's arm. 

" Poor thing ! " muttered Judge Boompointer. " Dare I 
tell her all ? Yet I must." 

" I shall cling to him," continued the young girl, rising 
with her theme, " as the young vine clings to some hoary 
ruin. Nay, nay, chide me not. Judge Boompointer. I will 
marry John Jenkins ! " 

The Judge was evidently affected. Seating himself at 
the table, he wrote a few lines hurriedly upon a piece of 
paper, which he folded and placed in the fingers of the 
destined bride of John Jenkins. 



3 9 6 John Jenkins. 

" Mary Jones," said the Judge, with impressive earnest- 
ness, "take this trifle as a wedding gift from one who 
respects your fidelity and truthfulness. At the altar let it 
be a reminder of me." And covering his face hastily with 
a handkerchief, the stern and iron-willed man left the room. 
As the door closed, Mary unfolded the paper. It was an 
order on the corner grocery for three yards of flannel, a 
paper of needles, four pounds of soap, one pound of starch, 
and two boxes of matches ! 

" Noble and thoughtful man ! " was all Mary Jones could 
exclaim, as she hid her face in her hands and burst into a 
flood of tears. 

The bells of Cloverdale are ringing merrily. It is a 
wedding. " How beautiful they look ! " is the exclamation 
that passes from lip to lip, as Mary Jones, leaning timidly, 
on the arm of John Jenkins, enters the church. But the 
bride is agitated, and the bridegroom betrays a feverish 
nervousness. As they stand in the vestibule, John Jenkins 
fumbles earnestly in his vest-pocket. Can it be the ring he 
is anxious about ? No. He draws a small brown substance 
from his pocket, and biting off a piece, hastily replaces the 
fragment and gazes furtively around. Surely no one saw 
him ? Alas ! the eyes of two of that wedding party saw the 
fatal act. Judge Boompointer shook his head sternly. 
Mary Jones sighed and breathed a silent prayer. Her 
husband chewed ! 



CHAPTER III. AND LAST. 

"What! more bread?" said John Jenkins grufiiy. "You're 
always asking for money for bread. D — nation ! Do 
you want to ruin me by your extravagance?" and as he 
uttered these words he drew from his pocket a bottle of 



John Jenkins. 397 

whisky, a pipe, and a paper of tobacco. Emptying the 
first at a draught, he threw the empty bottle at the head of 
his eldest boy, a youth of twelve summers. The missile 
struck the child full in the temple, and stretched him a 
lifeless corpse. Mrs. Jenkins, whom the reader will hardly 
recognise as the once gay and beautiful Mary Jones, raised 
the dead body of her son in her arms, and carefully placing 
the unfortunate youth beside the pump in the back-yard, 
returned with saddened step to the house. At another 
time, and in brighter days, she might have wept at the 
occurrence. She was past tears now. 

" Father, your conduct is reprehensible ! " said little 
Harrison Jenkins, the youngest boy. "Where do you 
expect to go when you die ? " 

" Ah ! " said John Jenkins fiercely ; " this comes of 
giving children 'a liberal education ; this is the result of 
Sabbath schools. Down, viper ! " 

A tumbler thrown from the same parental fist laid out 
the youthful Harrison cold. The four other children 
had, in the meantime, gathered around the table with 
anxious expectancy. With a chuckle, the now changed and 
brutal John Jenkins produced four pipes, and filling them 
with tobacco, handed one to each of his offspring and bade 
them smoke. " It's better than bread ! " laughed the 
wretch hoarsely. 

Mary Jenkins, though of a patient nature, felt it her duty 
now to speak. " I have borne much, John Jenkins," she 
said. " But I prefer that the children should not smoke. 
It is an unclean habit, and soils their clothes. I ask this 
as a special favour ! " 

John Jenkins hesitated, — the pangs of remorse began to 
seize him. 

" Promise me this, John ! " urged Mary upon her knees. 

"I promise ! " reluctantly answered John. 



398 John Jenkins. 

" And you will put the money in a savings-bank ? " 

" I will," repeated her husband ; " and /'U give ' up 
smoking, too." 

" 'Tis well, John Jenkins ! " said Judge Boompointer, 
appearing suddenly from behind the door, where he had 
been concealed during this interview. '' Nobly said ! my 
man. Cheer up ! I will see that the children are decently 
buried." The husband and wife fell into each other's arms. 
And Judge Boompointer, gazing upon the affecting spec- 
tacle, burst into tears. 

From that day John Jenkins was an altered man. 



( 399 ) 



jTantine* 

AFTER THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO, 
PROLOGUE. 

As long as there shall exist three paradoxes, a moral Frenchman, a 
religious atheist, and a believing sceptic ; so long, in fact, as book- 
sellers shall wait — say twenty-five years — for a new gospel ; so long as 
paper shall remain cheap and ink three sons a bottle, I have no hesita- 
tion in saying that such books as these are not utterly profitless. 

Victor Hugo. 



To be good is to be queer. What is a good man ? 
Bishop Myriel. 

My friend, you will possibly object to this. You will say 
you know what a good man is. Perhaps you will say your 
clergyman is a good man, for instance. 

Bah ! you are mistaken ; you are an Englishman, and an 
Englishman is a beast. 

Englishmen think they are moral when they are only 
serious. These Englishmen also wear ill-shaped hats, and 
dress horribly ! 

Bah ! they are canaille. 

Still, Bishop Myriel was a good man, — quite as good as 
you. Better than you, in fact. 
jOne day M. Myriel was in Paris. This angel used to 
walk about the streets like any other man. He was not 



400 Fantine. 

proud, though fine-looking. Well, three gamins de Paris 
called him bad names. Says one — 

" Ah, mon Dieu ! there goes a priest ; look out for your 
eggs and chickens ! " 

What did this good man do .? He called to them kindly. 

" My children," said he, " this is clearly not your fault. 
I recognise in this insult and irreverence only the fault of 
your immediate progenitors. Let us pray for your imme- 
diate progenitors." 

They knelt down and prayed for their immediate pro- 
genitors. 

The effect was touching. 

The Bishop looked calmly around. 

" On reflection," said he gravely, " I was mistaken ; this 
is clearly the fault of Society. Let us pray for Society." 

They knelt down and prayed for Society. 

The effect was sublimer yet. What do you think of 
that ? You, I mean. 

Everybody remembers the story of the Bishop and 
Mother Nez Retroussd Old Mother Nez Retrousse sold 
asparagus. She was poor ; there's a great deal of meaning 
in that word, my friend. Some people say "poor but 
honest." I say, Bah ! 

Bishop Myriel bought six bunches of asparagus. This 
good man had one charming faiUng; he was fond of 
asparagus. He gave her a franc and received three sous 
change. 

The sous were bad, — counterfeit. What did this good 
Bishop do ? He said : " I should not have taken change 
from a poor woman." 

Then afterwards, to his housekeeper : " Never take 
change from a poor woman." 

Then he added to himself : " For the sous will probably 
be bad." . 



, Fantine. 401 



II. 

When a man commits a crime, society claps him in 
prison. A prison is one of the worst hotels imaginable. 
The people there are low and vulgar. The butter is bad, 
the coffee is green. Ah, it is horrible ! 

In prison, as in a bad hotel, a man soon loses, not only 
his morals, but what is much worse to a Frenchman, his 
sense of refinement and delicacy. 

Jean Valjean came from prison with confused notions 
of Society. He forgot the modern peculiarities of hospi- 
tality. So he walked off with the Bishop's candlesticks. 

Let us consider : candlesticks were stolen ; that was 
evident. Society put Jean Valjean in prison \ that was 
evident, too. In prison, Society took away his refinement; 
that is evident, likewise. 

Who is Society ? 

You and I are Society. 

My friend, you and I stole those candlesticks ! 



III. 

The Bishop thought so, too. He meditated profoundly 
for six days. On the morning of the seventh he went to 
the Prefecture of Police. 

He said : " Monsieur, have me arrested. I have stolen 
candlesticks." 

The official was governed by the law of Society, and 
refused. 

What did this Bishop do ? 

He had a charming ball and chain made, affixed to his 
leg, and wore it the rest of his life. 

This is a fact ! 

VOL. V. 2 c 



402 Fantine, 

Love is a mystery. 

A little friend of mine down in the country, at Auvergne, 
said to me one day : " Victor, Love is the world, — it con- 
tains everything." 

She was only sixteen, this sharp-witted little girl, and a 
beautiful blonde. She thought everything of me. 

Fantine was one of those women who do wrong in the 
most virtuous and touching manner. This is a peculiarity 
of French grisettes. 

You are an Englishman, and you don't understand. 
Learn, my friend, learn. Come to Paris and improve your 
morals. 

Fantine was the soul of modesty. She always wore high- 
neck dresses. High-neck dresses are a sign of modesty. 

Fantine loved Tholmoyes. Why ? My God ! What 
are you to do ? It was the fault of her parents, and she 
hadn't any. How shall you teach her ? You must teach 
the parent if you wish to educate the child. How would 
you become virtuous ? 

Teach your grandmother ! 

V. 

When Tholmoyes ran away from Fantine, — which was 
done in a charming, gentlemanly manner, — Fantine became 
convinced that a rigid sense of propriety might look upon 
her conduct as immoral. She was a creature of sensitive- 
ness, — and her eyes were opened. 

She was virtuous still, and resolved to break off the liaison 
at once. 

So she put up her wardrobe and baby in a bundle. Child 
as she was, she loved them both. Then left Paris. 



Fantine. 403 

VI. 

Fantine's native place had changed. 

M. Madeline — an angel, and inventor of jet-work — had 
been teaching the villagers how to make spurious jet. 

This is a progressive age. Those Americans, — children 
of the West, — they make nutmegs out of wood. 

I, myself, have seen hams made of pine, in the wigwams 
of those children of the forest. 

But civilisation has acquired deception too. Society is 
made up of deception. Even the best French society. 

Still there was one sincere episode. 

Eh? 

The French Revolution ! 

VII. 

M. Madeline was, if anything, better than Myriel. 

M. Myriel was a saint. M. Madeline a good man. 

M. Myriel was dead. M. Madeline was living. 

That made all the difference. 

M. Madeline made virtue profitable. I have seen it 
written — 

" Be virtuous and you will be happy." 

Where did I see this written ? In the modern Bible ? 
No. In the Koran ? No. In Rousseau ? No. Diderot ? 
No. Where then ? 

In a copy-book. 

VIII. "• 

M. Madeline was M. le Maire. 

This is how it came about. 

For a long time he refused the honour. One day an old 
woman, standing on the steps, said — 



404 Fantine, 

" Bah, a good mayor is a good thing. 
" You are a good thing. 
"Be a good mayor." 

This woman was a rhetorician. She understood inductive 
ratiocination. 



IX. 

When this good M. Madeline, whom the reader will per- 
ceive must have been a former convict, and a very bad 
man, gave himself up to justice as the real -Jean Valjean, 
about this same time, Fantine was turned away from the 
manufactory, and met with a number of losses from society. 
Society attacked her, and this is what she lost — 

First her lover. 

Then her child. 

Then her place. " 

Then her hair. ^ 

Then her teeth. 

Then her Hberty. 

Then her life. 

What do you think of society after that ? I tell you the 
present social system is a humbug. 



X. 

This is necessarily the end of Fantine. 

There are other things that will be stated in other vol- 
umes to follow. Don't be alarmed; there are plenty of 
miserable people left. 

Au revoir — my friend. 



( 405 ) 



^'£a jFemme/' 

AFTER THE FRENCH OF M. MIC HE LET, 



WOMEN AS AN INSTITUTION. 

*'If it were not for women, few of us would at present 
be in existence." This is the remark of a cautious and 
discreet writer. He was also sagacious and intelligent. 

Woman ! Look upon her and admire her. Gaze upon 
her and love her. If she wishes to embrace you, permit 
her. Remember she is weak and you are strong. 

But don't treat her unkindly. Don't make love to 
another woman before her face, even if she be your wife. 
Don't do it. Always be polite, even should she fancy 
somebody better than you. 

If your mother, my dear Amadis, had not fancied your 
father better than somebody, you might have been that 
somebody's son. Consider this. Always be a philosopher, 
even about women. 

Few men understand women. Frenchmen, perhaps, 
better than any one else. I am a Frenchman. 



4o6 ''La Femnie. 



11. 

THE INFANT. 

She is a child — a little thing — an infant. 

She has a mother and father. Let us suppose, for 
example, they are married. Let us be moral if we cannot 
be happy and free — they are married — perhaps — they love 
one another — who knows ? 

But she knows nothing of this ; she is an infant — a small 
thing — a trifle ! 

She is not lovely at first. It is cruel, perhaps, but she is 
red, and positively ugly. She feels this keenly and cries. 
She weeps. Ah, my God, how she weeps ! Her cries and 
lamentations now are really distressing. 

Tears stream from her in floods. She feels deeply and 
copiously like M. Alphonse de Lamartine in his Confes- 
sions. 

If you are her mother, Madame, you will fancy worms ; 
you will examine her linen for pins, and what not. Ah, 
hypocrite ! you, evenjj;<?z/, misunderstand her. 

Yet she has charming natural impulses. See how she 
tosses her dimpled arms. She looks longingly at her 
mother. She has a language of her own. She says, " goo 
goo," and " ga ga." 

She demands something — this infant ! 

She is faint, poor thing. She famishes. She wishes to 
be restored. Restore her, Mother ! 

// is the first duty of a mother to restore her child ! 



La Femme,'' 407 



IIL 

THE DOLL. 

She is hardly able to walk ; she already totters under the 
weight of a doll. 

It is a charming and elegant affair. It has pink cheeks 
and purple-black hair. She prefers brunettes, for she has 
already, with the quick knowledge of a French infant, 
perceived she is a blonde, and that her doll cannot rival 
her. Mon Dteu, how touching ! Happy child ! She 
spends hours in preparing its toilet. She begins to show 
her taste in the exquisite details of its dress. She loves it 
madly, devotedly. She will prefer it to bonbons. She 
already anticipates the wealth of love she will hereafter 
pour out on her lover, her mother, her father, and finally, 
perhaps, her husband. 

This is the time the anxious parent will guide these first 
outpourings. She will read her extracts from Michelet's 
"L'Amour," Rousseau's ''Heloise," and the "Revue des 
deux Mondes." 

IV. 

THE MUD PIE. 

She was in tears to-day. 

She had stolen away from her bo7tne and was with some 
rustic infants. They had noses in the air, and large, coarse 
hands and feet. 

They had seated themselves around a pool in the road, 
and were fashioning fantastic shapes in the clayey soil with 
their hands. Her throat swelled and her eyes sparkled 
with delight as, for the first time, her soft palms touched the 



4o8 '' La Femmey 

plastic mud. She made a graceful and lovely pie. She 
stuffed it with stones for almonds and plums. She forgot 
everything. It was being baked in the solar rays, when 
madame came and took her away. 

She weeps. It is night, and she is weeping still. 



V. 

THE FIRST LOVE. 

She no longer doubts her beauty. She is loved. 

She saw him secretly. He is vivacious and sprightly. 
He is famous. He has already had an affair with Finfin, 
the jftlle de chamhre^ and poor Finfin is desolate. He is 
noble. She knows he is the son of Madame la Baronne 
Couturiere. She adores him. 

She affects not to notice him. Poor little thing ! 
Hippolyte is distracted — annihilated — inconsolable and 
charming. 

She admires his boots, his cravat, his little gloves — his 
exquisite pantaloons — his coat, and cane. 

She offers to run away with him. He is transported, but 
magnanimous. He is wearied, perhaps. She sees him the 
next day offering flowers to the daughter of Madame la 
Comtesse Blanchisseuse. 

She is again in tears. 

She reads "Paul et Virginie." She is secretly transported. 
When she reads how the exemplary young woman laid 
down her life rather than appear en dkshabillt to her lover, 
she weeps again. Tasteful and virtuous Bernardine de St. 
Pierre ! — the daughters of France admire you ! 

All this time her doll is headless in the cabinet. The 
mud pie is broken on the road. 



La Femmey 409 



VI. 

THE WIFE. 

She is tired of loving and she marries. 

Her mother thinks it, on the whole, the best thing. As 
the day approaches, she is found frequently in tears. Her 
mother will not permit the affianced one to see her, and he 
makes several attempts to commit suicide. 

But something happens. Perhaps it is winter, and the 
water is cold. Perhaps there are not enough people 
present to witness his heroism. 

In this way her future husband is spared to her. The 
ways of Providence are indeed mysterious. At this time 
her mother will talk with her. She will offer philosophy. 
She will tell her she was married herself. 

But what is this new and ravishing light that breaks upon 
her ? The toilet and wedding clothes ! She is in a new 
sphere. 

She makes out her list in her own charming writing. 
Here it is. Let every mother heed it* 

She is married. On the day after, she meets her old 
lover. Hippolyte. He is again transported. 



VII. 

HER OLD AGE. 

A Frenchwoman never grows old. 

* The delicate reader will appreciate the omission of certain articles 
for which English synonymes are forbidden. 



( 4IO ) 



BY SIR ED— D L— TT — N B — LW — R. 

BOOK I. 

THE PROMPTINGS OF THE IDEAL. 

It was noon. Sir Edward had stepped from his brougham 
and was proceeding on foot down the Strand. He was 
dressed with his usual faultless taste, but in alighting from 
his vehicle his foot had slipped, and a small round disk of 
conglomerated soil, which instantly appeared on his high 
arched instep, marred the harmonious glitter of his boots. 
Sir Edward was fastidious. Casting his eyes around, at a 
little distance he perceived the stand of a youthful boot- 
black. Thither he sauntered, and carelessly placing his 
foot on the low stool, he waited the application of the 
polisher's art. "'Tis true," said Sir Edward to himself, 
yet half aloud, " the contact of the Foul and the Disgusting 
mars the general effect of the Shiny and the Beautiful — 
and, yet, why am I here ? I repeat it, calmly and deliber- 
ately—why am I here ? Ha ! Boy ! " 

The Boy looked up — his dark Itahan eyes glanced 
intelligently at the Philosopher, and as with one hand he 
tossed back his glossy curls from his marble brow, and 
with the other he spread the equally glossy Day & Martin 
over the Baronet's boot, he answered in deep, rich tones : 
*'The Ideal is subjective to the Real. The exercise of 



The Dweller of the Threshold. 4 1 1 

apperception gives a distinctiveness to idiocracy, which is, 
however, subject to the limits of Me. You are an admirer 
of the Beautiful, sir. You wish your boots blacked. The 
Beautiful is attainable by means of the Coin." 

"Ah," said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the 
almost supernal beauty of the Child before him; "you speak 
well. You have read ' Kant.' " 

The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of "Kant" 
from his blouse, but in his confusion several other volumes 
dropped from his bosom on the ground. The Baronet 
picked them up. 

"Ah!" said the Philosopher, "what's this? 'Cicero's 
De Senectute,' at your age, too.? 'Martial's Epigrams,' 
' Caesar's Commentaries.' What! a classical scholar?" 

" E pluribus Unum. Nux vomica. Nil desperandum. 
Nihil fit ! " said the Boy enthusiastically. The Philosopher 
gazed at the Child. A strange presence seemed to trans- 
fuse and possess him. Over the brow of the Boy glittered 
the pale nimbus of the Student. 

" Ah, and ' Schiller's Robbers,' too ? " queried the 
Philosopher. 

" Das ist ausgespielt," said the Boy modestly. 

" Then you have read my translation of ' Schiller's 
Ballads ? ' " continued the Baronet, with some show of 
interest. 

" I have, and infinitely prefer them to the original," said 
the Boy, with intellectual warmth. "You have shown how 
in Actual life we strive for a Goal we cannot reach ; how 
in the Ideal the Goal is attainable, and there effort is 
victory. You have given us the Antithesis which is a key 
to the Remainder, and constantly balances before us the 
conditions of the Actual and the privileges of the Ideal." 

"My very words," said the Baronet; "wonderful, won- 
derful ! " and he gazed fondly at the Italian boy, who again 



412 The Dweller of the Threshold. 

resumed his menial employment. Alas ! the wings of the 
Ideal were folded. The Student had been absorbed in 
the Boy. 

But Sir Edward's boots were blacked, and he turned to 
depart. Placing his hand upon the clustering tendrils that 
surrounded the classic nob of the infant Italian, he said 
softly, like a strain of distant music — 

*' Boy, you have done well. Love the Good. Protect 
the Innocent. Provide for the Indigent. Respect the 
Philosopher. . . . Stay ! Can you tell me what is The 
True, The Beautiful, The Innocent, The Virtuous?" 

" They are things that commence with a capital letter," 
said the Boy promptly. 

" Enough ! Respect everything that commences with a 
capital letter ! Respect Me ! " and dropping a halfpenny 
in the hand of the boy, he departed. 

The Boy gazed fixedly at the coin. A frightful and 
instantaneous change overspread his features. His noble 
brow was corrugated with baser lines of calculation. His 
black eye, serpent-like, glittered with suppressed passion. 
Dropping upon his hands and feet, he crawled to the curb- 
stone and hissed after the retreating form of the Baronet, 
the single word — 

" Bilk ! " 



BOOK II. 

IN THE WORLD. 

*' Eleven years ago," said Sir Edward to himself, as his 
brougham slowly rolled him toward the Committee Room ; 
"just eleven years ago my natural son disappeared mysteri- 
ously. I have no doubt in the world but that this little 
bootblack is he. His mother died in Italy. He resembles 



The Dweller of the Threshold. 4 1 3 

his mother very much. Perhaps I ought to provide for 
him. Shall I disclose myself ? No ! no ! Better he 
should taste the sweets of Labour. Penury ennobles the 
mind and kindles the Love of the Beautiful. I will act to 
him, not like a Father, not like a Guardian, not like a 
Friend — but like a Philosopher ! " 

With these words, Sir Edward entered the Committee 
Room. His Secretary approached him. " Sir Edward, 
there are fears of a division in the House, and the Prime 
Minister Ijas sent for you." 

"I will be there," said Sir Edward, as he placed his 
hand on his chest and uttered a hollow cousrh ! 

No one who heard the Baronet that night, in his sarcastic 
and withering speech on the Drainage and Sewerage Bill, 
would have recognised the Lover of the Ideal and the 
Philosopher of the Beautiful. No one who listened to his 
eloquence would have dreamed of the Spartan resolution 
this iron man had taken in regard to the Lost Boy — his 
own beloved Lionel. None ! 

"A fine speech from Sir Edward to-night," said Lord 
Billingsgate, as arm-and-arm with the Premier, he entered 
his carriage. 

" Yes ! but how dreadfully he coughs ! " 

" Exactly. Dr. Bolus says his lungs are entirely gone ; 
he breathes entirely by an effort of will, and altogether 
independent of pulmonary assistance." 

" How strange ! " and the carriage rolled away. 



414 The Dweller of the Threshold, 
BOOK III. 

THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 

" Adon At, appear ! appear ! " 

And as the Seer spoke, the awful Presence gHded out 
of Nothingness, and sat, sphinx-like, at the feet of the 
Alchemist. 

" I am come ! " said the Thing. 

" You should say, * I have come,' — it's better grammar," 
said the Boy-Neophyte, thoughtfully accenting the substi- 
tuted expression. 

** Hush, rash Boy," said the Seer sternly. *' Would you 
oppose your feeble knowledge to the infinite intelligence 
of the Unmistakable ? A word, and you are lost for ever." 

The Boy breathed a silent prayer, and handing a sealed 
package to the Seer, begged him to hand it to his father 
in case of his premature decease. 

"You have sent for me," hissed the Presence, "Behold 
me, Apokatharticon, — the Unpron.ounceable. In me all 
things exist that are not already co-existent. I am the 
Unattainable, the Intangible, the Cause, and the Effect. 
In me observe the Brahma of Mr. Emerson j not only 
Brahma himself, but also the sacred musical composition 
rehearsed by the faithful Hindoo. I am the real Gyges. 
None others are genuine." 

And the veiled Son of the Starbeam laid himself loosely 
about the room, and permeated Space generally. 

" Unfathomable Mystery," said the Rosicrucian in a low, 
sweet voice. " Brave Child with the Vitreous Optic ! 
Thou who pervadest all things and rubbest against us 
without abrasion of the cuticle. I command thee, speak ! " 

And the misty, intangible, indefinite Presence spoke. 



The Dweller of the Threshold. 4 1 5 



BOOK IV. 

MYSELF. 

After the events related in the last chapter, the readei 
will perceive that nothing was easier than to reconcile Sir 
Edward to his son Lionel, nor to resuscitate the beautiful 
Italian girl, who, it appears, was not dead, and to cause 
Sir Edward to marry his first and boyish love, whom he 
had deserted. They were married in St. George's, Hanover 
Square. As the bridal party stood before the altar. Sir 
Edward, with a sweet, sad smile, said in quite his old 
manner — 

" The Sublime and Beautiful are the Real ; the only 
Ideal is the Ridiculous and Homely. Let us always 
remember this. Let us through life endeavour to personify 
the virtues, and always begin 'em with a capital letter. 
Let us, whenever we can find an opportunity, deliver our 
sentiments in the form of roundhand copies. Respect the 
Aged. Eschew Vulgarity. Admire Ourselves. Regard the 
Novelist." 



( 4i6 ) 



3B B. 

BEING A NOVEL IN THE FRENCH PARAGRAPHIC 
STYLE. 

— Mademoiselle, I swear to you that I love you. 

— You who read these pages. You who turn your burn- 
ing eyes upon these words — words that I trace — Ah, 
Heaven ! the thought maddens me. 

— I will be calm. I will imitate the reserve of the festive 
Englishman, who wears a spotted handkerchief which he 
calls a Belchio, who eats biftek, and caresses a bulldog. I 
will subdue myself like him. 

— Ha ! Poto-beer ! All right — Goddam ! 

— Or, I will conduct myself as the free-born American — 
the gay Brother Jonathan ! I will whittle me a stick. I 
will whistle to myself " Yankee Doodle," and forget my 
passion in excessive expectoration. 

— Hoho ! — wake snakes and walk chalks. 

The world is divided into two great divisions, — Paris 
and the provinces. There is but one Paris. There are 
several provinces, among which may be numbered England, 
America, Russia, and Italy. 

N N. was a Parisian. 

But N N. did not live in Paris. Drop a Parisian in the 
provinces, and you drop a part of Paris with him. Drop 
him in Senegambia, and in three days he will give you an 
omelette soufflee, or a pate de foie gras, served by the neatest 



. N N. 417 

of Senegambianyffe, whom he will call Mademoiselle. In 
three weeks he will give you an opera. 

N N. was not dropped in Senegambia, but in San 
Francisco, — quite as awkward. 

They find gold in San Francisco, but they don't under- 
stand gilding. 

N N. existed three years in this place. He became bald 
on the top of his head, as all Parisians do. Look down 
from your box at the Opera Comique, Mademoiselle, and 
count the bald crowns of the fast young men in the pit. 
Ah — you tremble ! They show where the arrows of love 
have struck and glanced off. 

N N. was almost near-sighted, as all Parisians finally 
become. This is a gallant provision of Nature to spare 
them the mortification of observing that their lady friends 
grow old. After a certain age every woman is handsome 
to a Parisian. 

One day, N N. was walking down Washington Street. 
Suddenly he stopped. 

He was standing before the door of a mantuamaker. 
Beside the counter, at the farther extremity of the shop, 
stood a young and^ elegantly formed woman. Her face 
was turned from N N. He entered. With a plausible 
excuse, and seeming indifference, he gracefully opened con- 
versation with the mantuamaker as only a Parisian can. 
But he had to deal with a Parisian. His attempts to view 
the features of the fair stranger by the counter were deftly 
combated by the shopwoman. He was obliged to retire. 

N N. went home and lost his appetite. He was haunted 
by the elegant basque and graceful shoulders of the fair 
unknown, during the whole night. 

The next day he sauntered by the mantuamaker. Ah ! 
Heavens ! A thrill ran through his frame, and his fingers 
tingled with a delicious electricity. The fair inconnue was 

VOL. V. 2D 



4i8 NN. 

there ! He raised his hat gracefully. He was not certain, 
but he thought that a slight motion of her faultless bonnet 
betrayed recognition. He would have wildly darted into 
the shop, bur just then the figure of the mantuamaker 
appeared in the doorway. 

— Did Monsieur wish anything ? 

— Misfortune ! Desperation. N N. purchased a bottle 
of Prussic acid, a sack of charcoal, and a quire of pink 
note-paper, and returned home. He wrote a letter of fare- 
well to the closely-fitting basque, and opened the bottle of 
Prussic acid. 

Some one knocked at his door. It was a Chinaman, 
with his weekly linen. 

These Chinese are docile, but not intelligent. They are 
ingenious, but not creative. They are cunning in expe- 
dients, but deficient in tact. In love they are simply bar- 
barous. They purchase their wives openly, and not con- 
structively by attorney. By offering small sums for their 
sweethearts, they degrade the value of the sex. 

Nevertheless, N N. felt he was saved. He explained all 
to the faithful Mongolian, and exhibited the letter he had 
written. He implored him to deliver it. 

The Mongohan assented. The race are not cleanly or 
sweet-savoured, but N N. fell upon his neck. He embraced 
him with one hand, and closed his nostrils with the other. 
Through him, he felt he clasped the close-fitting basque. 

The next day was one of agony and suspense. Evening 
came, but no Mercy. N N. lit the charcoal. But, to com- 
pose his nerves, he closed his door and first walked mildly 
up and down Montgomery Street. When he returned, he 
found the faithful Mongolian on the steps. 

—All Hty ! 

These Chinese are not accurate in their pronunciation. 
They avoid the r, like the English nobleman. 



N N. 419 

N N. gasped for breath. He leaned heavily against the 
Chinaman. 

— Then you have seen her, Ching Long ? 

— Yes. All lity. She cum. Top side of house. 

The docile barbarian pointed up the stairs, and chuckled. 

— She here — impossible ! Ah, Heaven ! do I dream ? 

— Yes. All lity, — top side of house. Good-bye, John. 

This is the famihar parting epithet of the MongoHan. 
It is equivalent to our au revoir. 

N N. gazed with a stupefied air on the departing servant. 

He placed his hand on his throbbing heart. She here, — 
alone beneath this roof. O Heavens, — what happiness ! 

But how ? Torn from her home. Ruthlessly dragged, 
perhaps, from her evening devotions, by the hands of a 
relentless barbarian. Could she forgive him? 

He dashed frantically up the stairs. He opened the 
door. 

She was standing beside his couch with averted face. 

A strange giddiness overtook him. He sank upon his 
knees at the threshold. 

— Pardon, pardon. My angel, can you forgive me? 

A terrible nausea now seemed added to the fearful giddi- 
ness. His utterance grew thick and sluggish. 

— Speak, speak, enchantress. Forgiveness is all I ask. 
My Love, my Life ! 

She did not answer. He staggered to his feet. As he 
rose, his eyes fell on the pan of burning charcoal. A 
terrible suspicion flashed across his mind. This giddiness 
— this nausea. The ignorance of the barbarian. This 
silence. O merciful heavens ; she was dying ! 

He crawled toward her. He touched her. She fell for- 
ward with a lifeless sound upon the floor. He uttered a 
piercing shriek, and threw himself beside her. 



420 N N. 

A file of gendarmes, accompanied by the Chef Burke, 
found him the next morning lying lifeless upon the floor. 
They laughed brutally — these cruel minions of the law — 
and disengaged his arm from the waist of the wooden 
dummy which they had come to reclaim from the mantua- 
maker. 

Emptying a few bucketfuls of water over his form, they 
finally succeeded in robbing him, not only of his mistress, 
but of that Death he had coveted without her. 

Ah ! we live in a strange world, Messieurs. 



( 421 ) 



Mo Citle* 



BY W — LK — E C— LL — NS. 



PROLOGUE. 

The following advertisement appeared in the " Times " of 
the 17th of June 1845 — 

WANTED. — A few young men for a light genteel employment. 
Address J. W., P. O. 

In the same paper, of same date, in another column — 

TO LET. — That commodious and elegant family mansion, No. 27 
Limehouse Road, Pultneyville, will be rented low to a respect- 
able tenant if applied for immediately, the family being about to 
remove to the Continent. 

Under the local intelligence, in another column — 

Missing. — An unknown elderly gentleman a week ago left his 
lodgings in the Kent Road, since which nothing has been heard of him. 
He left no trace of his identity except a portmanteau containing a 
couple of shirts marked "209, Ward." 

To find the connection between the mysterious dis- 
appearance of the elderly gentleman and the anonymous 
communication, the relevancy of both these incidents to 
the letting of a commodious family mansion, and the dead 
secret involved in the three occurrences, is the task of the 
writer of this history. 



422 No Title. 

A slim young man with spectacles, a large hat, drab 
gaiters, and a note-book, sat late that night with a copy of 
the " Times " before him, and a pencil which he rattled 
nervously between his teeth in the coffee-room of the 
"Blue Dragon." 



CHAPTER I. 

MARY Jones's narrative. 

I AM upper housemaid to the family that live at No. 27 
Limehouse Road, Pultneyville. I have been requested by 
Mr. Wilkey Collings, which I takes the liberty of here 
stating is a gentleman born and bred, and has some con- 
sideration for the feelings of servants, and is not above 
rewarding them for their trouble, which is more than you 
can say for some who ask questions and gets short answers 
enough, gracious knows, to tell what I know about them. 
I have been requested to tell my story in my own langwidge, 
though, being no schollard, mind cannot conceive. I think 
my master is a brute. IJo not know that he has ever 
attempted to poison my missus, — which is too good for 
him, and how she ever came to marry him, heart only can 
tell, — but believe him to be capable of any such hatrosity. 
Have heard him swear dreadful because of not having his 
shaving-water at nine o'clock precisely. Do not know 
whether he ever forged a will or tried to get my missus' 
property, although, not having confidence in the man, 
should not be surprised if he had done so. Believe that 
there was always something mysterious in his conduct. 
Remember distinctly how the family left home to go abroad. 
Was putting up my back hair, last Saturday mornmg, when 
I heard a ring. Says cook, " That's missus' bell, and mind 
you hurry or the master 'ill know why." Says I, " Humbly 



No Title. 



423 



thanking you, mem, but taking advice of them as is com- 
petent to give it, I'll take my time." Found missus dressing 
herself and master growling as usual. Says missus, quite 
calm and easy like, " Mary, we begin to pack to-day." 
" What for, mem ? " says I, taken aback. " What's that 
hussy asking.?" says master from the bedclothes quite 
savage like. *^ For the Continent — Italy," says missus — 
" Can you go, Mary ? " Her voice was quite gentle and 
saintlike, but I knew the struggle it cost, and says I, " With 
you, mem, to India's torrid clime, if required, but with 
African Gorillas," says I, looking toward the bed, "never." 
" Leave the room," says master, starting up and catching 
of his bootjack. " Why, Charles ! " says missus, " how you 
talk ! " affecting surprise. " Do go, Mary," says she, 
slipping a half-crown into my hand. I left the room 
scorning to take notice of the odious wretch's conduct. 

Cannot say whether my master and missus were ever 
legally married. What with the dreadful state of morals 
nowadays and them stories in the circulating Hbraries, 
innocent girls don't know into what society they might be 
obliged to take situations. Never saw missus' marriage 
certificate, though I have quite accidental-like looked in her 
desk when open, and would have seen it. Do not know of 
any lovers missus might have had. Believe she had a 
liking for John Thomas, footman, for she was always 
spiteful-like — poor lady — when we were together — though 
there was nothing between us, as cook well knows, and 
dare not deny, and missus needn't have been jealous. 
Have never seen arsenic or Prussian acid in any of the 
private drawers — but have seen paregoric and camphor. 
One of my master's friends was a Count Moscow, a Russian 
papist — which I detested. 



424 ^0 Title. 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE SLIM YOUNG MAN's STORY. 

I AM by profession a reporter, and writer for the press. I 
live at Pultneyville. I have always had a passion for the 
marvellous, and have been distinguished for my facility in 
tracing out mysteries, and solving enigmatical occurrences. 
On the night of the 17th June ^1845, I left my office and 
walked homeward. The night was bright and starlight. I 
was revolving in my mind the words of a singular item I 
had just read in the " Times." I had reached the darkest 
portion of the road, and found myself mechanically 
repeating : " An elderly gentleman a week ago left his 
lodgings on the Kent Road," when suddenly I heard a step 
behind me. 

I turned quickly, with an expression of horror in my face, 
and by the light of the newly risen moon beheld an elderly 
gentleman, with green cotton umbrella, approaching me. 
His hair, which was snow white, was parted over a broad, 
open forehead. The expression of his face, which was 
slightly flushed, was that of amiability verging almost upon 
imbecility. There was a strange, inquiring look about the 
widely opened mild blue eye, — a look that might have 
been intensified to insanity, or modified to idiocy. As he 
passed me, he paused and partly turned his face, with a 
gesture of inquiry. I see him still, his white locks blowing 
in the evening breeze, his hat a little on the back of his 
head, and his figure painted in relief against the dark blue 
sky. 

Suddenly he turned his mild eye full upon me. A weak 
smile played about his thin lips. In a voice which had 
something of the tremulousness of age and the self-satisfied 



No Title, 425 

chuckle of imbecility in it, he asked, pointing to the rising 
moon, ''Why?— Hush!". 

He had dodged behind me, and appeared to be looking 
anxiously down the road. I could feel his aged frame shak- 
ing with terror as he laid his thin hands upon my shoulders 
and faced me in the direction of the supposed danger. 

"Hush ! did you not hear them coming? " 

I listened ; there was no sound but the soughing of the 
roadside trees in the evening wind. I endeavoured to 
reassure him, with such success that in a few moments the 
old weak smile appeared on his benevolent face. 

" Why ? — " But the look of interrogation was suc- 
ceeded by a hopeless blankness. 

" Why ! " I repeated with assuring accents. 

" Why," he said, a gleam of intelligence flickering over 
his face, " is yonder moon, as she sails in the blue 
empyrean, casting a flood of light o'er hill and dale, like — 
Why," he repeated, with a feeble smile, " is yonder moon, 
as she sails in the blue empyrean — " He hesitated, — 
stammered, — and gazed at me hopelessly, with the tears 
dripping from his moist and widely opened eyes. 

I took his hand kindly in my own. " Casting a shadow 
o'er hill and dale," I repeated quietly, leading him up the 
subject, "like — Come, now." 

" Ah ! " he said, pressing my hand tremulously, " you 
know it ? " 

"I do. Why is it like — the — eh — the commodious 
mansion on the Limehouse Road ? " 

A blank stare only followed. He shook his head sadly. 
" Like the young men wanted for a light, genteel 
employment?" 

He wagged his feeble old head cunningly. 

*' Or, Mr. Ward," I said, with bold confidence, " like the 
mysterious disappearance from the Kent Road ? " 



426 No Title, 

The moment was full of suspense. He did not seem to 
hear me. Suddenly he turned. • 
" Ha ! " 
I darted forward. But he had vanished in the darkness. 



CHAPTER HI. 

NO. 27 LIMEHOUSE ROAD. 

It was a hot midsummer evening. Limehouse Road was 
deserted save by dust and a few rattling butchers' carts, 
and the bell of the muffin and crumpet man. A com- 
modious mansion, which stood on the right of the road as 
you enter Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a 
high fence surmounted by a chevaux defrise of broken glass, 
looked to the passing and footsore pedestrian like the 
genius of seclusion and solitude. A bill announcing in the 
usual terms that the house was to let, hung from the bell 
at the servants' entrance. 

As the shades of evening closed, and the long shadows 
of the poplars stretched across the road, a man carrying a 
small kettle stopped and gazed, first at the bill and then at 
the house. When he had reached the corner of the fence, 
he again stopped and looked cautiously up and down the 
road. Apparently satisfied with the result of his scrutiny, 
he deliberately sat himself down in the dark shadow of the 
fence, and at once busied himself in some employment, so 
well concealed as to be invisible to the gaze of passers-by. 
At the end of an hour he retired cautiously. 

But not altogether unseen. A slim young man, with 
spectacles and note-book, stepped from behind a tree as 
the retreating figure of the intruder was lost in the twilight, 
and transferred from the fence to his note-book the freshly 
stencilled inscription, "S — T — 1860— X." 



No Title, 427 



CHAPTER IV. 

COUNT Moscow's NARRATIVK 

I AM a foreigner. Observe ! To be a foreigner in England 
is to be mysterious, suspicious, intriguing. M. Collins has 
requested the history of my complicity with certain occur- 
rences. It is nothing, bah ! absolutely nothing. 

I write with ease and fluency. Why should I not write ? 
Tra la la ! I am what you English call corpulent. Ha, 
ha ! I am a pupil of Macchiavelli. I find it much better 
to disbelieve everything, and to approach my subject and 
wishes circuitously, than in a direct manner. You have 
observed that playful animal, the cat. Call it, and it does 
not come to you directly, but rubs itself against all the 
furniture in the room, and reaches you finally — and scratches. 
Ah, ha, scratches ! I am of the feline species. People 
call me a villain — bah ! 

I know the family, living No. 27 Limehouse Road. I 
respect the gentleman, — a fine, burly specimen of your 
Englishman, — and madame, charming, ravishing, delight- 
ful. When it became known to me that they designed 
to let their delightful residence, and visit foreign shores, I 
at once called upon them. I kissed the hand of madame. I 
embraced the great Englishman. Madame blushed slightly. 
The great Englishman shook my hand like a mastiff. 

I began in that dexterous, insinuating manner, of which 
I am truly proud. I thought madame was ill. Ah, no. A 
change, then, was all that was required. I sat down at the 
piano and sang. In a few minutes madame retired. I was 
alone with my friend. 

Seizing his hand, I began with every demonstration of 
courteous sympathy. I^ do not repeat my words, for my 



428 No Title. 

intention was conveyed more in accent, emphasis, and 
manner, than speech. I hinted to him that he had another 
wife Hving. I suggested that this was balanced — ha ! — by 
his wife's lover. That, possibly, he wished to fly ; hence the 
letting of his delightful mansion. That he regularly and 
systematically beat his wife in the English manner, and that 
she repeatedly deceived him. I talked of hope, of consola- 
tion, of remedy. I carelessly produced a bottle of strych- 
nine and a small vial of stramonium from my pocket, and 
enlarged on the efficiency of drugs. His face, which had 
gradually become convulsed, suddenly became fixed with a 
frightful expression. . He started to his feet, and roared 
" You d — d Frenchman ! " 

I instantly changed my tactics, and endeavoured to 
embrace him. He kicked me twice, violently. I begged 
permission to kiss madame's hand. He replied by throwing 
me downstairs. 

I am in bed with my head bound up, and beaf-steaks 
upon my eyes, but still confident and buoyant. I have not 
lost faith in Macchiavelli. Tra la la ! as they sing in the 
opera. I kiss everybody's hands. 



CHAPTER V. 

DR. DIGGS'S STATEMENT. 

My name is David Diggs. I am a surgeon, living at No. 
9 Tottenham Court. On the T5th of June 1854, I was 
called to see an elderly gentleman lodging on the Kent 
Road. Found him highly excited, with strong febrile 
symptoms, pulse 120, increasing. Repeated incoherently 
what I judged to be the popular form of a conundrum. On 
closer examination found acute hydrocephalus and both 
lobes of the brain rapidly filling with water. In consulta- 



No Title. 429 

tion with an eminent phrenologist, it was further discovered 
that all the organs were more or less obliterated, except 
that of Comparison. Hence the patient was enabled to only 
distinguish the most common points of resemblance between 
objects, without drawing upon other faculties, such as 
Ideality or Language, for assistance. Later in the day 
found him sinking, — being evidently unable to carry^ the 
most ordinary conundrum to a successful issue. Exhibited 
Tinct. Val., Ext. Opii, and Camphor, and prescribed quiet 
and emollients. On the 17th the patient was missing. 



CHAPTER LAST. 

STATEMENT OF THE PUBLISHER. 

On the i8th of June, Mr. Wilkie Collins left a roll of manu- 
script with us for publication, without title or direction, 
since which time he has not been heard from. In spite of 
the care of the proof-readers, and valuable Hterary assistance, 
it is feared that the continuity of the story has been des- 
troyed by some accidental misplacing of chapters during its 
progress. How and what chapters are so misplaced, the 
publisher leaves to an indulgent public to discover. 



( 430 ) 



Ipanlijsome is as JpanDgome 3Doeis;. 



BY CH — S R — DE. 



CHAPTER I. 

\ 



The Dodds were dead. For twenty years they had slept 
under the green graves of Kittery churchyard. The town 
folk still spoke of them kindly. The keeper of the alehouse, 
where David had smoked his pipe, regretted him regularly, 
and Mistress Kitty, Mrs. Dodd's maid, whose trim figure 
always looked well in her mistress's gowns, was inconsol- 
able. The Hardins were in America. Raby was aristo- 
cratically gouty ; Mrs. Raby, religious. Briefly, then, we 
have disposed of — 

1. Mr. and Mrs. Dodds (dead). 

2. Mr. and Mrs. Hardin (translated). 

3. Raby, daron et femme. (Yet I don't know about the 
former ; he came of a long-lived family, and the gout is an 
uncertain disease.) 

We have active at the present writing {place aux 
dames) — 

1. Lady Caroline Coventry, niece of Sir Frederick. 

2. Faraday Huxley Little, son of Henry and Grace Little, 
deceased. 

Sequitur to the above, A Hero and Heroine. 



Handsome is as Handsome Does. 43 1 



CHAPTER II. 

On the death of his parents, Faraday Little was taken to 
Raby Hall. In accepting his guardianship, Mr. Raby 
struggled stoutly against two prejudices: Faraday was plain- 
looking and sceptical. 

" Handsome is as handsome does, sweetheart," pleaded 
Jael, interceding for the orphan with arms that were still 
beautiful. *' Dear knows, it is not his fault if he does not 
look like — his father," she added with a great gulp. Jael 
was a woman, and vindicated her womanhood by never en. 
tirely forgiving a former rival. 

" It's not that alone, madam," screamed Raby, " but, d — m 
it, the little rascal's a scientist, — an atheist, a radical, a 
scoffer ! DisbeHeves in the Bible, ma'am ; is full of this 
Darwinian stuff about natural selection and descent. 
Descent, forsooth ! In my day, madam, gentlemen were 
content to trace their ancestors back to gentlemen, and not 
to — monkeys ! " 

" Dear heart, the boy is clever," urged Jael. 

" Clever ! " roared Raby ; " what does a gentleman want 
with cleverness ? " 



CHAPTER III. 

Young Little was clever. At seven he had constructed a 
telescope ; at nine, a flying-machine. At ten he saved a 
valuable life. 

Norwood Park was the adjacent estate, — a lordly domain 
dotted with red deer and black trunks, but scrupulously 
kept with gravelled roads as hard and blue as steel. There 



432 Handsome is as Handsome Does. 

Little was strolling one summer morning, meditating on a 
new top with concealed springs. At a little distance before 
him he saw the flutter of lace and ribbons. A young lady, 
a very young lady, — say of seven summers, — tricked out in 
the crying abominations of the present fashion, stood beside 
alow bush. Her nursery-maid was not present, possibly 
owing to the fact that John the footman was also absent. 

Suddenly Little came towards her. " Excuse me, but do 
you know what those berries are ? " He was pointing to 
the low bush filled with dark clusters of shining — sus- 
piciously shining — fruit. 

" Certainly ; they are blueberries." 

" Pardon me ; you are mistaken. They belong to quite 
another family." 

Miss Impudence drew herself up to her full height (exactly 
three feet nine and a half inches), and, curling an eighth of 
an inch of scarlet lip, said, scornfully, " Your family, 
perhaps." 

Faraday Little smiled in the superiority of boyhood over 
girlhood. 

*'I allude to the classification. That plant is the bel- 
ladonna, or deadly nightshade. Its alkaloid is a narcotic 
poison." 

Sauciness turned pale. " I — have — ^just — eaten — some !" 
And began to whimper. "Oh dear, what shall I do?" 
Then did it, /.^., wrung her small fingers and cried. 

" Pardon me one moment." Little passed his arm 
around her neck, and with his thumb opened widely, the 
patrician-veined lids of her sweet blue eyes. "Thank 
Heaven, there is yet no dilation of the pupil; it is not too 
late!" He cast a rapid glance around. The nozzle and 
about three feet of garden hose lay near him. 
" Open your mouth, quick ! " 
It was a pretty, kissable mouth. But young Little meant 



Handsome is as Handsome Does. 433 

business. He put the nozzle down her pink throat as far as 
it would go. 

" Now, don't move." 

He wrapped his handkerchief around a hoop-stick. 
Then he inserted both in the other end of the stiff hose. 
It fitted snugly. He shoved it in and then drew it back. 

•Nature abhors a vacuum. The young patrician was as 
amenable to this law as the child of the lowest peasant. 

She succumbed. It was all over in a minute. Then she 
burst into a small fury. 

"You nasty, bad — ugly boy." 

Young Little winced, but smiled. 

"Stimulants," he whispered to the frightened nursery- 
maid who approached ; "good evening." He was gone. 



CHAPTER IV. 

The breach between young Little and Mr. Raby was 
slowly widening. Little found objectionable features in the 
Hall. " This black oak ceiHng and wainscoting is not as 
healthful as plaster ; besides, it absorbs the light. The bed- 
room ceiling is too low ; the EHzabethan architects knew 
nothing of ventilation. The colour of that oak panelling 
which you admire is due to an excess of carbon and the 
exuvia from the pores of your skin " 

"Leave the house," bellowed Raby, "before the roof falls 
on your sacrilegious head ! " 

As Little left the house, Lady Caroline and a handsome 
boy of about Little's age entered. Lady Caroline recoiled, 
and then— blushed. Little glared ; he instinctively felt the 
presence of a rival. 

VOL. v. 2 E 



434 Handsome is as Handsome Does. 



CHAPTER V. 

Little worked hard. He studied night and day. In five 
years he became a lecturer, then a professor. 

He soared as high as the clouds, he dipped as low as the 
cellars of the London poor. He analysed the London fog, 
and found it two parts smoke, one disease, one unmention- 
able abominations. He published a pamphlet, which was 
violently attacked. Then he knew he had done something. 

But he had not forgotten Caroline. He was walking one 
day in the Zoological Gardens and he came upon a pretty 
picture, — flesh and blood too. 

Lady Caroline feeding buns to the bears ! An exquisite 
thrill passed through his veins. She turned her sweet face 
and their eyes met. They recollected their first meeting 
seven years before, but it was his turn to be shy and timid. 
Wonderful power of age and sex ! She met him with per- 
fect self-possession. 

"Well meant, but indigestible I fear " (he alluded to the 
buns). 

" A clever person like yourself can easily correct that " 
(she, the slyboots, was thinking of something else). 

In a few moments they were chatting gaily. Little 
eagerly descanted upon the difi"erent animals ; she listened 
with delicious interest. An hour glided delightfully away. 

After this sunshine, clouds. 

To them suddenly entered Mr. Raby and a handsome 
young man. The gentlemen bowed stiffly and looked 
vicious, — as they felt. The lady of this quartette smiled 
amiably, as she did not feel. 

" Looking at your ancestors, I suppose," said Mr. Raby, 
pointing to the monkeys j "we will not disturb you. Come." 
And he led Caroline away. 



Handsome is as Handsome Does, 435 

Little was heart-sick. He dared not follow them. But 
an hour later he saw something which filled his heart with 
bhss unspeakable. 

Lady Caroline, with a divine smile on her face, feeding 
the monkeys ! 



CHAPTER VL 

Encouraged by love, Little worked hard upon his new 
flying-machine. His labours were lightened by talking of 
the beloved one with her French maid Therese, whom he 
had discreetly bribed. Mademoiselle Therese was venal, 
like all her class, but in this instance I fear she was not 
bribed by British gold. Strange as it may seem to the 
British mind, it was British genius, British eloquence, 
British thought, that brought her to the feet of this 
young savan. 

" I believe," said Lady Caroline, one day, interrupting 
her maid in a glowing eulogium upon the skill of " M. 
Leetell," — " I believe you are in love with this Professor." 
A quick flush crossed the olive cheek of Therese, which 
Lady Caroline afterward remembered. 

The eventful day of trial came. The public were gathered, 
impatient and scornful as the pig-headed public are apt to 
be. In the open area a long cylindrical balloon, in shape 
like a Bologna sausage, swayed above the machine, from 
which, like some enormous bird caught in a net, it tried to 
free itself. A heavy rope held it fast to the ground. 

Little was waiting for the ballast, when his eye caught 
Lady Caroline's among the spectators. The glance was 
appeahng. In a moment he was at her side. 

" I should like so much to get into the machine," said 
the arch-hypocrite demurely. 



43 6 Handsome is as Handsome Does. 

"Are you engaged to marry young Raby," said Little 
bluntly. 

*' As you please," she said with a courtesy ; " do I take 
this as a refusal ? " 

Little was a gentleman. He lifted her and her lapdog 
into the car. 

" How nice ! it won't go off? " 

" No, the rope is strong, and the ballast is not yet in." 

A report like a pistol, a cry from the spectators, a thousand 
hands stretched to grasp the parted rope, and the balloon 
darted upward. 

Only one hand of that thousand caught the rope, — 
Little's ! But in the same instant the horror-stricken spec- 
tators saw him whirled from his feet and borne upward, 
still clinging to the rope, into space. 



CHAPTER Vn.* 

Lady Caroline fainted. The cold, watery nose of her 
dog on her cheek brought her to herself. She dared not 
look over the edge of the car ; she dared not look up to 
the bellowing monster above her, bearing her to death. 
She threw herself on the bottom of the car, and embraced 
the only living thing spared her, — the poodle. Then she 
cried. Then a clear voice came apparently out of the cir- 
cumambient air — 

"May I trouble you to look at the barometer?" 
She put her head over the car. Little was hanging at 
the end of a long rope. She put her head back again. 

In another moment he saw her perplexed, blushing face 
over the edge, — blissful sight. 

* The right of dramatisation of this and succeeding chapters is re- 
served by the writer. - 



Handsome is as Handsome Does, 437 

"Oh, please don't think of coming up ! Stay there, do! " 

Little stayed. Of course she could make nothing out 
of the barometer, and said so. Little smiled. 

"Will you kindly send it down to me?" 

But she had no string or cord. Finally she said, " Wait 
a moment." 

Little waited. This time her face did not appear. The 
barometer came slowly down at the end of — a stay-lace. 

The barometer showed a frightful elevation. Little 
looked up at the valve and said nothing. Presently he 
heard a sigh. Then a sob. Then, rather sharply — 

"Why don't you do something?" 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Little came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline 
crouched in the farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, 
whined. " Poor thing," said Lady Caroline, " it's hungry." 

" Do you wish to save the dog ? " said Little. 

"Yes." 

" Give me your parasol." 

She handed Little a good-sized affair of lace and silk 
and whalebone. (None of your " sunshades.") Little 
examined its ribs carefully. 

" Give me the dog." - 

Lady CaroHne hurriedly slipped a note under the dog's 
collar, and passed over her pet. 

Little tied the dog to the handle of the parasol and 
launched them both into space. The next moment they 
were slowly, but tranquilly, sailing to the earth. 

"A parasol and a parachute are distinct, but not different. 
Be not alarmed, he will get his dinner at some farmhouse." 

" Where are we now ? " 



43 S Handsome is as Handsome Does, 

"That opaque spot you see is London fog. Those 
twin clouds are North and South America. Jerusalem and 
Madagascar are those specks to the right." 

Lady Caroline moved nearer ; she was becoming inter- 
ested. Then she recalled herself, and said freezingly, 
" How are we going to descend ? " 

*' By opening the valve." 

" Why don't you open it then ? " 

" Because the valve-string is broken ! " 



CHAPTER IX. 

Lady Caroline fainted. When she revived it was dark. 
They were apparently cleaving their way through a solid 
block of black marble. She moaned and shuddered. 

" I wish we had a light." 

" I have no lucifers," said Little. " I observe, however, 
that you wear a necklace of amber. Amber under certain 
conditions becomes highly electrical. Permit me." 

He took the amber necklace and rubbed it briskly. 
Then he asked her to present her knuckle to the gem. A 
bright spark was the result. This was repeated for some 
hours. The light was not brilliant, but it was enough for 
the purposes of propriety, and satisfied the delicately 
minded girl. 

Suddenly there was a tearing, hissing noise and a smell 
of gas. Little looked up and turned pale. The balloon, 
at what I shall call the pointed end of the Bologna sausage, 
was evidently bursting from increased pressure. The gas 
was escaping, and already they were beginning to descend. 
Little was resigned but firm. 

" If the silk gives way, then we are lost. Unfortunately 
I have no rope nor material for binding it." 



Handsome is as Handsome Does, 439 

The woman's instinct had arrived at the same conclusion 
sooner than the man's reason. But she was hesitating over 
a detail. 

"Will you go down the rope for a moment?" she said, 
with a sweet smile. 

Little went down. Presently she called to him. She 
held something in her hand, — a wonderful invention of the 
seventeenth century, improved and perfected in this : a 
pyramid of sixteen circular hoops of light yet strong steel, 
attached to each other by cloth bands. 

With a cry of joy Little seized them, climbed to the 
balloon, and fitted the elastic hoops over its conical end. 
Then he returned to the car. 

" We are saved." 

Lady Caroline, blushing, gathered her slim but antique 
drapery against the other end of the car. 



CHAPTER X. 

> \ 
They were slowly descending. Presently Lady Caroline 
distinguished the outlines of Raby Hall. *' I think I will 
get out here," she said. 

Little anchored the balloon, and prepared to follow her. 

" Not so, my friend," she said, with an arch smile. "We 
must not be seen together. People might talk. Farewell." 

Little sprang again into the balloon and sped away to 
America. He came down in California, oddly enough in 
front of Hardin's door, at Dutch Flat. Hardin was just 
examining a specimen of ore. 

" You are a scientist ; can you tell me if that is worth 
anything?" he said, handing it to Little. 

Little held it to the light. " It contains ninety per cent 
of silver." 



440 Handsome is as Handsome Does, 

Hardin embraced him. " Can I do anything for you, 
and why are you here ? " 

Little told his story. Hardin asked to see the rope. 
Then he examined it carefully. 

" Ah, this was cut, not broken ! " 

"With a knife?" asked Little. 

"No. Observe both sides are equally indented. It was 
done with a scissors I " 

" Just Heaven ! " gasped Little. " Th^rese ! " 



CHAPTER XL 

Little returned to London. Passing through London one 
day he met a dog-fancier. "Buy a nice poodle, sir?" 

Something in the animal attracted his attention. "Fido !" 
he gasped. 

The dog yelped. 

Little bought him. On taking off his collar a piece of 
paper rustled to the floor. He knew the handwriting and 
kissed it. It ran — 

"To THE Honourable Augustus Raby, — I cannot 
marry you. If I marry any one " (sly puss) " it will be the 
man who has twice saved my life, — Professor Little. 

" Caroline Coventry." 

And she did. 



( 441 ) 



ILotfialo ; 



OR, 

THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN 
^ SEARCH OF A RELIGION 

BY MR. BENJAMINS. 



CHAPTER I. 

" I REMEMBER him a little boy," said the Duchess. " His 
mother was a dear friend of mine j you know she was one 
of my bridesmaids." 

" And you have never seen him since, mamma ? " asked 
the oldest married daughter, who did not look a day older 
than her mother. 

" Never ; he was an orphan shortly after. I have often 
reproached myself, but it is so difficult to see boys." 
% This simple yet first-class conversation existed in the 
morning-room of Plusham, where the mistress of the pala- 
tial mansion sat involved in the sacred privacy of a circle 
of her married daughters. One dexterously applied golden 
knitting-needles to the fabrication of a purse of floss silk of 
the rarest texture, which none who knew the almost fabu- 
lous wealth of the Duke would believe was ever destined to 
hold in its silken meshes a less sum than ;^i, 000,000 ; 
another adorned a slipper exclusively with seed pearls ; a 
third emblazoned a page with rare pigments and the finest 
quality of gold leaf. Beautiful forms leaned over frames 



442 Lot haw. 

glowing with embroidery, and beautiful frames leaned over 
forms inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Others, more remote, 
occasionally burst into melody as they tried the passages of 
a new and exclusive air given to them in MS. by some titled 
and devoted friend, for the private use of the aristocracy 
alone, and absolutely prohibited for publication. 

The Duchess, herself the superlative of beauty, wealth, 
and position, was married to the highest noble in the Three 
Kingdoms. Those who talked about such matters said 
that their progeny were exactly like their parents, — a pecu- 
liarity of the aristocratic and wealthy. They all looked 
Hke brothers and sisters, except their parents, who, such 
was their purity of blood, the perfection of their manners, 
and the opulence of their condition, might have been taken 
for their own children's elder son and daughter. The 
daughters, with one exception, were all married to the 
highest nobles in the land. That exception was the Lady 
Coriander, who, there being no vacancy above a marquis 
and a rental of ;^i, 000,000, waited. Gathered around the 
refined and sacred circle of their breakfast-table, with their 
glittering coronets, which, in filial respect to their father's 
Tory instincts and their mother's Ritualistic tastes, they 
always wore on their regal brows, the effect was dazzling as 
it was refined. It was this peculiarity and their strong 
family resemblance which led their brother-in-law, the good- 
humoured St. Addlegourd, to say that, " 'Pon my soul, you 
know, the whole precious mob looked like a ghastly pack 
of court cards, you know." St. Addlegourd was a radical. 
Having a rent-roll of ;2^ 15,000,000, and belonging to one 
of the oldest families in Britain, he could afford to be. 

" Mamma, I've just dropped a pearl," said the Lady 
Coriander, bending over the Persian hearthrug. 

" From your lips, sweet friend," said Lothaw, who came 
of age and entered the room at the same moment. 



Lothaw. 443 

" No, from my work. It was a very valuable pearl, 
mamma ; papa gave Isaacs and Sons ;£"5 0,000 for the 
two." 

" Ah, indeed," said the Duchess, languidly rising ; " let 
us go to luncheon." 

" But, your Grace," interposed Lothaw, who was still 
quite young, and had dropped on all-fours on the carpet in 
search of the missing gem, " consider the value " 

" Dear friend," interposed the Duchess, with infinite tact, 
gently lifting him by the tails of his dress-coat, " I am 
waiting for your arm." 



CHAPTER II. 

Lothaw was immensely rich. The possessor of seventeen 
castles, fifteen villas, nine shooting-boxes, and seven town 
houses, he had other estates of which he had not even heard. 

Everybody at Plusham played croquet, and none badly. 
Next to their purity of blood and great wealth, the family 
were famous for this accomplishment. Yet Lothaw soon 
tired of the game, and after seriously damaging his aristo- 
cratically large foot in an attempt to " tight croquet " the 
Lady Aniseed's ball, he limped away to join the Duchess. 

" I'm going to the hennery," she said. 

" Let me go with you, I dearly love fowls — broiled," he 
added thoughtfully. 

"The Duke gave Lady Montairy some large Cochins the 
other day," continued the Duchess, changing the subject 
with delicate tact. 

** Lady Montairy, 
Quite contrary, 
How do your Cochins grow ? " 



sang Lothaw gaily. 



444 Lot haw. 

The Duchess looked shocked. After a prolonged silence 
Lothaw abruptly and gravely said — 

" If you please, ma'am, when I come into my property I 
should like to build some improved dwellings for the poor, 
and marry Lady Coriander." 

" You amaze me, dear friend, and yet both your aspira- 
tions are noble and eminently proper," said the Duchess ; 
*' Coriander is but a child, — and yet," she added, looking 
graciously upon her companion, " for the matter of that, so 
are you." 



CHAPTER III. 

Mr. Putney Giles's was Lothaw's first grand dinner-party. 
Yet, by carefully watching the others, he managed to acquit 
himself creditably, and avoided drinking out of the finger- 
bowl by first secretly testing its contents with a spoon. 
The conversation was peculiar and singularly interesting. 

" Then you think that monogamy is simply a question of 
the thermometer?" said Mrs. Putney Giles to her companion. 

" I certainly think that polygamy should be limited by 
isothermal lines," replied Lothaw. 

"I should say it was a matter of latitude," observed a 
loud talkative man opposite. He was an Oxford Professor 
with a taste for satire, and had made himself very obnoxious 
to the company, during dinner, by speaking disparagingly 
of a former well-known Chancellor of the Exchequer, — a 
great statesman and brilliant novelist, — whom he feared 
and hated. 

Suddenly there was a sensation in the room ; among the 
females it absolutely amounted to a nervous thrill. His 
Eminence, the Cardinal, was announced. He entered with 
great suavity of manner, and after shaking hands with 



Lothaw, 445 

everybody, asking after their relatives, and chucking the 
more delicate females under the chin with a high-bred grace 
peculiar to his profession, he sat down, saying, " And how 
do we all find ourselves this evening, my dears ? " in several 
different languages, which he spoke fluently. 

Lothaw's heart was touched. His deeply religious con- 
victions were impressed. He instantly went up to this 
gifted being, confessed, and received absolution. "To- 
morrow," he said to himself, " I will partake of the com- 
munion, and endow the Church with my vast estates. For 
the present I'll let the improved cottages go." 



CHAPTER IV. 

As Lothaw turned to leave the Cardinal, he was struck by 
a beautiful face. It was that of a matron, slim but 
shapely as an Ionic column. Her face was Grecian, with 
Corinthian temples; Hellenic eyes that looked from jutting 
eyebrows, like dormer-windows in an Attic forehead, com- 
pleted her perfect Athenian outline. She wore a black 
frock-coat tightly buttoned over her bloomer trousers, and 
a standing collar. 

"Your lordship is struck by that face," said a social 
parasite. 

" I am ; who is she ? " 

" Her name is Mary Ann. She is married to an 
American, and has lately invented a new religion." 

" Ah ! " said Lothaw eagerly^ with difficulty restraining 
himself from rushing toward her. 

" Yes ; shall I introduce you ? " 

Lothaw thought of Lady Coriander's High Church pro- 
clivities, of the Cardinal, and hesitated : " No, I thank you, 
not now." 



44^ ' Lothaw, 



CHAPTER V. 

Lothaw was maturing. He had attended two womans' 
rights conventions, three Fenian meetings, had dined at 
White's, and had danced vis-a-vis to a prince of the blood, 
and eaten off gold plates at Crecy House. 

His stables were near Oxford, and occupied more ground 
than the University. He was driving over there one day, 
when he perceived some rustics and menials endeavouring 
to stop a pair of runaway horses attached to a carriage in 
which a lady and gentleman were seated. Calmly awaiting 
the termination of the accident, with high-bred courtesy 
Lothaw forebode to interfere until the carriage was over- 
turned, the occupants thrown out, and the runaways secured 
by the servants, when he advanced and offered the lady 
the exclusive use of his Oxford stables. 

Turning upon him a face whose perfect Hellenic details 
he remembered, she slowly dragged a gentleman from under 
the wheels into the light and presented him with ladylike 
dignity as her husband, Major-General Camperdown, an 
American. 

" Ah," said Lothaw carelessly, " I believe I have some 
land there. If I mistake not, my agent, Mr. Putney 
Giles, lately purchased the State of — Illinois — I think you 
call it." 

" Exactly. As a former resident of the city of Chicago, 
let me introduce myself as your tenant." 

Lothaw bowed graciously to the gentleman, who, except 
that he seemed better dressed than most Enghshmen, 
showed no other signs of inferiority and plebeian 
extraction. 

" We have met before," said Lothaw to the lady as she 



Lothaw. 447 

leaned on his arm, while they visited his stables, the 
University, and other places of interest in Oxford. "Pray 
tell me, what is this new religion of yours ? " 

" It is Woman Suffrage, Free Love, Mutual Affinity, and 
Communism. Embrace it and me." 

Lothaw did not know exactly what to do. She, however, 
soothed and sustained his agitated frame and sealed with 
an embrace his speechless form. The General approached 
and coughed slightly with gentlemanly tact. 

" My husband will be too happy to talk with you further 
on this subject," she said with quiet dignity, as she regained 
the General's side. " Come with us to Oneida. Brook 
Farm is a thing of the past." 



CHAPTER VI. 

As Lothaw drove toward his country-seat, " The Mural En- 
closure," he observed a crowd, apparently of the working 
class, gathered around a singular-looking man in the pictur- 
esque garb of an Ethiopian serenader. " What does he say ? " 
inquired Lothaw of his driver. 

The man touched his hat respectfully and said, " My 
Mary Ann." 

" ' My Mary Ann ! ' " Lothaw's heart beat rapidly. Who 
was this mysterious foreigner ? He had heard from Lady 
Coriander of a certain Popish plot j but could he connect 
Mr. Camperdown with it ? 

The spectacle of two hundred men at arms who advanced 
to meet^im at the gates of " The Mural Enclosure " drove all 
else from the still youthful and impressible mind of Lothaw. 
Immediately behind them, on the steps of the baronial halls, 
were ranged his retainers, led by the chief cook and bottle- 
washer, and head crumb-remover. On either side were two 



44^ Lothaw. 

companies of laundry-maids, preceded by the chief crimper 
and fluter, supporting a long Ancestral Line, on which 
depended the family linen, and under which the youthful 
lord of the manor passed into the halls of his fathers. 
Twenty-four scullions carried the massive gold and silver 
plate of the family on their shoulders, and deposited it at 
the feet of their master. The spoons were then solemnly 
counted by the steward, and the perfect ceremony ended. 

Lothaw sighed. He sought out the gorgeously gilded 
" Taj," or sacred mausoleum erected to his grandfather in 
the second story front room, and wept over the man he did 
not know. He wandered alone in his magnificent park, 
and then, throwing himself on a grassy bank, pondered on 
the Great First Cause, and the necessity of religion. " I 
will send Mary Ann a handsome present," said Lothaw 
thoughtfully. 



CHAPTER Vn. 

" Each of these pearls, my lord, is worth fifty thousand 
guineas," said Mr. Amethyst, the fashionable jeweller, as he 
lightly lifted a large shovelful from a convenient bin behind 
his counter. 

" Indeed," said Lothaw carelessly, " I should prefer to 
see some expensive ones." 

"Some number sixes, I suppose," said Mr. Amethyst, 
taking a couple from the apex of a small pyramid that lay 
piled on the shelf. "These are about the size of the 
Duchess of Billingsgate's, but they are in finer condition. 
The fact is, her Grace permits her two children, the Mar- 
quis of Smithfield and the Duke of St. Giles, — two sweet 
pretty boys, my lord, — to use them as marbles in their 
games. Pearls require some attention, and I go down there 



Lothaw, 449 

regularly twice a week to clean them. Perhaps your lord- 
ship would hke some ropes of pearls ? " 

" About half a cable's length," said Lothaw shortly, " and 
send them to my lodgings." 

Mr. Amethyst became thoughtful. " I am afraid I have 
not the exact number — that is — excuse me one moment. 
I will run over to the Tower and borrow a few from the 
crown jewels." And before Lothaw could prevent him, he 
seized his hat and left Lothaw alone. 

His position certainly was embarrassing. He could not 
move without stepping on costly gems which had rolled 
from the counter ; the rarest diamonds lay scattered on the 
shelves ; untold fortunes in priceless emeralds lay within 
his grasp. Although such was the aristocratic purity of his 
blood and the strength of his religious convictions that he 
probably would not have pocketed a single diamond, still 
he could not help thinking that he might be accused of 
taking some. " You can search me, if you like," he said 
when Mr. Amethyst returned ; " but I assure you, upon the 
honour of a gentleman, that I have taken nothing." 

"Enough, my lord," said Mr. Amethyst, with a low 
bow j " we never search the aristocracy." 



CHAPTER VIIL 

As Lothaw left Mr. Amethyst's, he ran against General 
Camperdown. " How is Mary Ann ? " he asked hurriedly. 

" I regret to state that she is dying," said the General, 
with a grave voice, as he removed his cigar from his lips, 
and lifted his hat to Lothaw. 

" Dying ! " said Lothaw incredulously. 

"Alas, too true!" replied the General. *'The engage- 
ments of a long lecturing season, exposure in travelling by 

VOL. V, 2 F 



450 Lothaw. 

railway during the winter, and the imperfect nourishment 
afforded by the refreshments along the road, have told on 
her delicate frame. But she wants to see you before she 
dies. Here is the key of my lodging. I will finish my 
cigar out here." 

Lothaw hardly recognised those wasted Hellenic outlines 
as he entered the dimly lighted room of the dying woman. 
She was already a classic ruin, — as wrecked and yet as per- 
fect as the Parthenon. He grasped her hand silently. 

" Open-air speaking twice a week, and saleratus bread in 
the rural districts, have brought me to this," she said feebly ; 
" but it is well. The cause progresses. The tyrant man 
succumbs." 

Lothaw could only press her hand. 

" Promise me one thing. Don't — whatever you do — be- 
come a Catholic." 

" Why ? " 

"The Church does not recognise divorce. And now 
embrace me. I would prefer at this supreme moment to 
introduce myself to the next world through the medium of 
the best society in this. Good-bye. When I am dead, be 
good enough to inform my husband of the fact." 



CHAPTER IX. 

Lothaw spent the next six months on an Aryan island, in 
an Aryan climate, and with an Aryan race. 

" This is an Aryan landscape," said his host, " and that 
is a Mary Ann statue." It was, in fact, a full-length figure 
in marble of Mrs. General Camperdown ! 

** If you please, I should like to become a Pagan," said 
Lothaw, one day, after listening to an impassioned discourse 
on Greek art from the lips of his host. 



Lot haw. 45 1 

But that night, on consulting a well-known spiritual 
medium, Lothaw received a message from the late Mrs. 
General Camperdown, advising him to return to England. 
Two days later he presented himself at Plusham. 

" The young ladies are in the garden," said the Duchess. 
"Don't you want to go and pick a rose?" she added with 
a gracious smile, and the nearest approach to a wink that 
was consistent with her patrician bearing and aquiline nose. 

Lothaw went and presently returned with the blushing 
Coriander upon his arm. 

" Bless you, my children," said the Duchess. Then 
turning to Lothaw, she said: "You have simply fulfilled 
and accepted your inevitable destiny. It was morally im- 
possible for you to marry out of this family. For the 
present, the Church of England is safe." 



( 452 ) 



Cl)e !paunteti ^an* 

J CHRISTMAS STORY. 

BY CH — R — S D — CK— N — S. 

PART I. 

THE FIRST PHANTOM. 

Don't tell me that it wasn't a knocker. I had seen it often 
enough, and I ought to know. So ought the three-o'clock 
beer, in dirty high-lows, swinging himself over the railing, 
or executing a demoniacal jig upon the doorstep; so ought 
the butcher, although butchers as a general thing are scorn- 
ful of such trifles; so ought the postman, to whom knockers 
of the most extravagant description were merely human 
weaknesses, that were to be pitied and used. And so ought, 
for the matter of that, &c., &c., &c. 

But then it was such a knocker. A wild, extravagant, and 
utterly incomprehensible knocker. A knocker so myste- 
rious and suspicious that Policeman X 37, first coming upon 
it, felt inclined to take it instantly in custody, but com- 
promised with his professional instincts by sharply and sternly 
noting it with an eye that admitted of no nonsense, but con- 
fidently expected to detect its secret yet. An ugly knocker; 
a knocker with a hard, human face, that was a type of the 
harder human face within. A human face that held be- 
tween its teeth a brazen rod. So hereafter, in the myste- 
rious future should be held, &c., &c. 



The Haunted Man, 453 

But if the knocker had a fierce human aspect in the 
glare of day, you should have seen it at night, when it 
peered out of the gathering shadows and suggested an 
ambushed figure ; when the light of the street lamps fell 
upon it, and wrought a play of sinister expression in its 
hard outlines ; when it seemed to wink meaningly at a 
shrouded figure who, as the night fell darkly, crept up the 
steps and passed into the mysterious house; when the 
swinging door disclosed a black passage into which the 
figure seemed to lose itself and become a part of the mys- 
terious gloom ; when the night grew boisterous and the 
fierce wind made furious charges at the knocker, as if to 
wrench it off and carry it away in triumph. Such a night 
as this. 

It was a Avild and pitiless wind. A wind that had com- 
menced life as a gentle country zephyr, but wandering 
through manufacturing towns had become demoralised, and 
reaching the city had plunged into extravagant dissipation 
and wild excesses. A roistering wind that indulged in 
Bacchanalian shouts on the street corners, that knocked 
off the hats from the heads of helpless passengers, and then 
fulfilled its duties by speeding away, like all young prodigals, 
— to sea. 

He sat alone in a gloomy library listening to the wind 
that roared in the chimney. Around him novels and story- 
books were strewn thickly ; in his lap he held one with its 
pages freshly cut, and turned the leaves wearily until his 
eyes rested upon a portrait in its frontispiece. And as the 
wind howled the more fiercely, and the darkness without 
fell blacker, a strange and fateful likeness to that portrait 
appeared above his chair and leaned upon his shoulder. 
The Haunted Man gazed at the portrait and sighed. The 
figure gazed at the portrait and sighed too. 

*' Here again? " said the Haunted Man. 



454 ^^^ Haunted Man. 

" Here again," it repeated in a low voice. 

" Another novel ? " 

" Another novel." 

" The old story ? '' 

" The old story." 

" I see a child," said the Haunted Man, gazing from the 
pages of the book into the fire, — " a most unnatural child, a 
model infant. It is prematurely old and philosophic. It 
dies in poverty to slow music. It dies surrounded by luxury 
to slow music. It dies with an accompaniment of golden 
water and rattling carts to slow music. Previous to its 
decease it makes a will; it repeats the Lord's Prayer, it 
kisses the * boofer lady.' That child " 

*' Is mine," said the phantom. 

" I see a good woman, undersized. I see several charming 
women, but they are all undersized. They are more or less 
imbecile and idiotic, but always fascinating and undersized. 
They wear coquettish caps and aprons. I observe that femi- 
nine virtue is invariably below the medium height, and that 
it is always simple and infantine. These women " — 

" Are mine." 

" I see a haughty, proud, and wicked lady. She is tall 
and queenly. I remark that all proud and wicked women 
are tall and queenly. That woman " 

'* Is mine," said the phantom, wringing his hands. 

*' I see several things continually impending. I observe 
that whenever an accident, a murder, or death is about to 
happen, there is some.thing in the furniture, in the locality, 
in the atmosphere, that foreshadows and suggests it years 
in advance. I cannot say that in real life I have noticed 
it, — the perception of this surprising fact belongs " 

"To me!" said the phantom. The Haunted Man 
continued, in a despairing tone — 

" I see the influence of this in the magazines and daily 



The Haunted Man. 455 

papers ; I see weak imitators rise up and enfeeble the world 
with senseless formula. I am getting tired of it. It won't 
do, Charles ! it won't do ! " and the Haunted Man buried 
his head in his hands and groaned. The figure looked 
down upon him sternly : the portrait in the frontispiece 
frowned as he gazed. 

" Wretched man," said the phantom, " and how have 
these things affected you ? " 

" Once I laughed and cried, but then I was younger. 
Now, I would forget them if I could." 

" Have then your wish. And take this with you, man 
whom I renounce. From this day henceforth you shall live 
with those whom I displace. Without forgetting me, ' twill 
be your lot to walk through life as if we had not met. But 
first you shall survey these scenes that henceforth must be 
yours. At one to-night, prepare to meet the phantom I 
have raised. Farewell ! " 

The sound of its voice seemed to fade away with the 
dying wind, and the Haunted Man was alone. But the 
firelight flickered gaily, and the light danced on the walls, 
making grotesque figures of the furniture. 

" Ha, ha ! " said the Haunted Man, rubbing his hands 
gleefully ; " now for a whisky punch and a cigar.'' 



PART II. 

THE SECOND PHANTOM. 

One ! The stroke of the far-off bell had hardly died before 
the front door closed with a reverberating clang. Steps 
were heard along the passage ; the library door swung open 
of itself, and the Knocker — yes, the Knocker — slowly strode 
into the room. The Haunted Man rubbed his eyes, — no I 
there could be no mistake about it, — it was the Knocker's 



45 6 The Haunted Man. 

face, mounted on a misty, almost imperceptible body. The 
brazen rod was transferred from its mouth to its right hand, 
where it was held like a ghostly truncheon. 

" It's a cold evening," said the Haunted Man. 

" It is," said the Goblin, in a hard, metallic voice. 

" It must be pretty cold out there," said the Haunted 
Man, with vague politeness. *' Do you ever — will you — 
take some hot water and brandy ? " 

" No," said the Goblin. 

" Perhaps you'd like it cold, by way of change ? " con- 
tinued the Haunted Man, correcting himself, as he remem- 
bered the peculiar temperature with which the Goblin was 
probably familiar. 

"Time flies," said the Goblin coldly. "We have no 
leisure for idle talk. Come ! " He moved his ghostly 
truncheon toward the window, and laid his hand upon the 
other's arm. At his touch the body of the Haunted Man 
seemed to become as thin and incorporeal as that of the 
Goblin himself, and together they glided out of the window 
into the black and blowy night. 

In the rapidity of their flight the senses of the Haunted 
Man seemed to leave him. At length they stopped sud- 
denly. 

" What do you see ? " asked the Goblin. 

" I see a battlemented mediaeval castle. Gallant men in 
mail ride over the drawbridge, and kiss their gauntleted 
fingers to fair ladies, who wave their lily hands in return. 
I see fight and fray and tournament. I hear roaring heralds 
bawling the charms of delicate women, and shamelessly 
proclaiming their lovers. Stay. I see a Jewess about to 
leap from a battlement. I see knightly deeds, violence, 
rapine, and a good deal of blood. I've seen pretty much 
the same at Astley's." 

" Look again." • 



The Haunted Man. 457 

" I see purple moors, glens, masculine women, bare-legged 
men, priggish book-worms, more violence, physical excel- 
lence, and blood. Always blood, — and the superiority of 
physical attainments." 

"And how do you feel now?" said the Goblin. 

The Haunted Man shrugged his shoulders. " None the 
better for being carried back and asked to sympathise with 
a barbarous age." 

The Goblin smiled and clutched his arm ; they again 
sped rapidly away through the black night and again halted. 

"What do you see ? " said the Goblin. 

" I see a barrack room, with a mess table, and a group 
of intoxicated Celtic officers telling funny stories, and giving 
challenges to duel. I see a young Irish gentleman capable 
of performing prodigies of valour. I learn incidentally that 
the acme of all heroism is the cornetcy of a dragoon regi- 
ment. I hear a good deal of French ! No, thank you," 
said the Haunted Man hurriedly, as he stayed the waving 
hand of the Goblin ; " I would rather not go to the Peninsula, 
and don't care to have a private interview with Napoleon." 

A'gain the Goblin flew away with the unfortunate man, 
and from a strange roaring below them he judged they were 
above the ocean. A ship hove in sight, and the Goblin 
stayed its flight. " Look," he said, squeezing his com- 
panion's arm. 

The Haunted Man yawned. " Don't you think, Charles, 
you're rather running this thing into the ground? Of 
course it's very moral and instructive, and all that. But 
ain't there a little too much pantomime about it ? Come 
now ! " 

" Look ! " repeated the Gobhn, pinching his arm mal- 
evolently. The Haunted Man groaned. 

" Oh, of course, I see her Majesty's ship Arethusa. Of 
course I am familiar with her stern First Lieutenant, her 



458 The Haunted Man. 

eccentric Captain, her one fascinating and several mis- 
chievous midshipmen. Of course I know it's a splendid 
thing to see all this, and not to be seasick. Oh, there the 
young gentlemen are going to play a trick on the purser. 
For God's sake, let us go," and the unhappy man absolutely 
dragged the Goblin away with him. 

When they next halted, it was at the edge of a broad 
and boundless prairie, in the middle of an oak opening. 

" I see," said the Haunted Man, without waiting for his 
cue, but mechanically, and as if he were repeating a lesson 
which the Goblin had taught him, — " I see the Noble 
Savage. He is very fine to look at ! But I observe 
under his war-paint, feathers, and picturesque blanket, dirt, 
disease, and an unsymmetrical contour. I observe beneath 
his inflated rhetoric deceit and hypocrisy; beneath his 
physical hardihood, cruelty, malice, and revenge. The 
Noble Savage is a humbug. I remarked the same to Mr. 
Catlin." 

*' Come," said the phantom. 

The Haunted Man sighed, and took out his watch. 
" Couldn't we do the rest of this another time ? " 

"My hour is almost spent, irreverent being, but there is 
yet a chance for your reformation. Come ! " 

Again they sped through the night, and again halted. 
The sound of delicious but melancholy music fell upon 
their ears. 

" I see," said the Haunted Man, with something of 
interest in his manner, — " I see an old moss-covered manse 
beside a sluggish, flowing river. I see weird shapes : 
witches, Puritans, clergymen, httle children, judges, mes- 
merised maidens, moving to the sound of melody that 
thrills me with its sweetness and purity. But, although 
carried along its calm and evenly flowing current, the 
shapes are strange and frightful : an eating lichen gnaws at 



The Haunted Man. 459 

the heart of each. Not only the clergymen, but witch, 
maiden, judge, and Puritan, all wear Scarlet Letters of 
some kind burned upon their hearts. I am fascinated and 
thrilled, but I feel a morbid sensitiveness creeping over me. 
I — I beg your pardon." The Goblin was yawning fright- 
fully. " Well, perhaps we had better go." 

" One more, and the last," said the Goblin. 

They were moving home. Streaks of red were beginning 
to appear in the eastern sky. Along the banks of the 
blackjy flowing river by moorland and stagnant fens, by 
low houses, clustering close to the water's edge, like strange 
mollusks crawled upon the beach to dry \ by misty black 
barges, the more misty and indistinct seen through its 
mysterious veil the river fog was slowly rising. So rolled 
away and rose from the heart of the Haunted Man, &c., 
&c. 

They stopped before a quaint mansion of red brick. 
The Goblin waved his hand without speaking. 

" I see," said the Haunted Man, " a gay drawing-room. 
I see my old friends of the club, of the college, of society, 
even as they lived and moved. I see the gallant and 
unselfish men, whom I have loved, and the snobs whom I 
have hated. I see strangely mingling with them, and now 
and then blending with their forms, our old friends Dick 
Steele, Addison, and Congreve. I observe, though, that 
these gentlemen have a habit of getting too much in the 
way. The royal standard of Queen Anne, not in itself a 
beautiful ornament, is rather too prominent in the picture. 
The long galleries of black oak, the formal furniture, the 
old portraits, are picturesque, but depressing. The house 
is damp. I enjoy myself better here on the lawn, where 
they are getting up a Vanity Fair. See, the bell rings, the 
curtain is rising, the puppets are brought out for a new 
play. Let me see." 



460 The Haunted Man. 

The Haunted Man was pressing forward in his eager- 
ness, but the hand of the Goblin stayed him, and pointing 
to his feet he saw, between him and the rising curtain, a 
new-made grave. And bending above the grave in pas- 
sionate grief, the Haunted Man beheld the phantom of 
the previous night. 

The Haunted Man started, and — woke. The bright 
sunshine streamed into the room. The air was sparkUng 
with frost. He ran joyously to the window and opened it. 
A small boy saluted him with " Merry Christmas." The 
Haunted Man instantly gave him a Bank of England note. 
" How much like Tiny Tim, Tom, and Bobby that boy 
looked, — bless my soul, what a genius this Dickens has ! " 

A knock at the door, and Boots entered. 

"Consider your salary doubled instantly. Have you 
read ' David Copperfield ? ' " 

" Yezzur." 

*' Your salary is quadrupled. What do you think of the 
«01d Curiosity Shop?'" 

The man instantly burst into a torrent of tears, and then 
into a roar of laughter. 

" Enough ! Here are five thousand pounds. Open a 
porter-house, and call it ^ Our Mutual Friend.' Huzza ! 
I feel so happy ! " And the Haunted Man danced about 
the room. 

And so, bathed in the light of that blessed sun, and yet 
glowing with the warmth of a good action, the Haunted 
Man, haunted no longer, save by those shapes which make 
the dreams of children ,beautiful, reseated himself in his 
chair, and finished " Our Mutual Friend." 



( 46i ) 



C|)e ^oolilum QBanD; 

OR, 

THE BOY CHIEF, THE INFANT POLITICIAN, AND 
THE PIRATE PRODIGY. 



CHAPTER I. 

It was a quiet New England village. Nowhere in the 
valley of the Connecticut the autumn sun shone upon a 
more peaceful, pastoral, manufacturing community. The 
wooden nutmegs were slowly ripening on the trees, and the 
white-pine hams for Western consumption were gradually 
rounding into form under the deft manipulation of the 
hardy American artisan. The honest Connecticut farmer 
was quietly gathering from his threshing-floor the shoe- 
pegs, which, when intermixed with a fair proportion of oats, 
offered a pleasing substitute for fodder to the effete civiUsa- 
tions of Europe. An almost Sabbath-like stillness pre- 
vailed. Doemville was only seven miles from Hartford, 
and the surrounding landscape smiled with the conviction 
of being fully insured. 

Few would have thought that this peaceful village was 
the home of the. three young heroes whose exploits would 
hereafter — but we anticipate. 

Doemville Academy was the principal seat of learning in 
the county. Under the grave and gentle administration of 



462 The Hoodlum Band. 

the venerable Doctor Context, it had attained just popu- 
larity. Yet the increasing infirmities of age obliged the 
doctor to relinquish much of his trust to his assistants, who, 
it is needless to say, abused his confidence. Before long 
their brutal tyranny and deep laid malevolence became 
apparent. Boys were absolutely forced to study their 
lessons. The sickening fact will hardly be believed, but 
during school-hours they were obliged to remain in their 
seats with the appearance, at least, of discipline. It is 
stated by good authority that the rolling of croquet balls 
across the floor during recitation was objected to, under 
the fiendish excuse of its interfering with their studies. 
The breaking of windows by base-balls, and the beating of 
small scholars with bats, was declared against. At last, 
bloated and arrogant with success, the under-teachers threw 
aside all disguise, and revealed themselves in their true 
colours. A cigar was actually taken out of a day-scholar's 
mouth during prayers ! A flask of whisky was dragged 
from another's desk, and then thrown out of the window. 
And finally. Profanity, Hazing, Theft, and Lying were 
almost discouraged. 

Could the youth of America, conscious of their power, 
and a literature of their own, tamely submit to this 
tyranny ? Never ! We repeat it firmly. Never ! We 
repeat it to parents and guardians. Never ! But the 
fiendish tutors, chuckling in their glee, little knew what 
was passing through the cold, haughty intellect of Charles 
Francis Adams Golightly, aged ten ; what curled the lip of 
Benjamin Franklin Jenkins, aged seven ; or what shone in 
the bold, blue eyes of Bromley Chitterlings, aged six and 
a half, as they sat in the corner of the playground at recess. 
Their only other companion and confidant was the negro 
porter and janitor of the school, known as "Pirate Jim." 

Fitly, indeed, was he named, as the secrets of his early 



The Hoodlum Band. 463 

wild career — confessed freely to his noble young friends — 
plainly showed. A slaver at the age of seventeen, the 
ringleader of a mutiny on the African coast at the age of 
twenty, a privateersman during the last war with England, 
the commander of a fire-ship and its sole survivor at twenty- 
five, with a wild, intermediate career of unmixed piracy, 
until the Rebellion called him to Civil Service again as a 
blockade runner, and peace and a desire for rural repose 
led him to seek the janitorship of the Doemville Academy, 
where no questions were asked and references not ex- 
changed — he was, indeed, a fit mentor for our daring youth. 
Although a man whose days had exceeded the usual space 
allotted to humanity, the various episodes of his career foot- 
ing his age up to nearly one hundred and fifty-nine years, 
he scarcely looked it, and was still hale and vigorous. 

" Yes," continued Pirate Jim critically ; ** I don't think 
he was any bigger nor you. Master ChitterHngs, if as big, 
when he stood on the fork'stle of my ship and shot the 
captain o' that East Injyman dead. We used to call him 
little Weevils, he was so young-like. But, bless your 
hearts, boys ! he wa'n't anything to Little Sammy Barlow, 
ez once crep' up inter the captain's state-room on a 
Rooshin frigate, stabbed him to the heart with a jack-knife, 
then put on the captain's uniform and his cocked hat, took 
command of the ship, and fout her hisself." 

" Wasn't the captain's clothes big for him ? " asked B. 
Franklin Jenkins anxiously. 

The janitor eyed young Jenkins with pained dignity. 

" Didn't I say the Rooshin captain was a small, a very 
small, man ? Rooshins is small, likewise Greeks." 

A noble enthusiasm beamed in the faces of the youthful 
heroes. 

*' Was Barlow as large' as me ? " asked C. F. Adams 
Golightly, lifting his curls from his Jove-like brow. 



-^■ 



464 The Hoodlum Band. 

" Yes ; but, then, he hed hed, so to speak, experiences. 
It was allowed that he had pizened his schoolmaster afore 
he went to sea. But it's dry talking, boys." 

Golightly drew a flask from his jacket and handed it to 
the janitor. It was his father's best brandy. The heart of 
the honest old seaman was touched. 

" Bless ye, my own pirate boy ! " he said, in a voice 
suffocating with emotion, 

"I've got some tobacco," said the youthful Jenkins, 
"but it's fine cut; I use only that now." 

" I kin buy some plug at the corner grocery," said Pirate 
Jim, " only I left my portmoney at home." 

" Take this watch," said young Golightly ; " 'tis my 
father's. Since he became a tyrant and usurper, and forced 
me to join a corsair's band, I've begun by dividing the 
property." 

" This is idle trifling," said young Chitterlings wildly. 
" Every moment is precious. Is this an hour to give to 
wine and wassail ? Ha, we want action — action ! We 
must strike the blow for freedom to-night — ay, this very 
night. The scow is already anchored in the mill-dam 
freighted with provisions for a three months' voyage. I 
have a black flag in my pocket. Why, then, this cowardly 
delay?" 

The two elder youths turned with a slight feeling of awe 
and shame to gaze on the glowing cheeks, and high, 
haughty crest of their youngest comrade — the bright, the 
beautiful Bromley Chitterlings. Alas ! that very moment 
of forgetfulness and mutual admiration was fraught with 
danger. A thin, dyspeptic, half-starved tutor approached. 

"It is time to resume your studies, young gentlemen/* 
he said, with fiendish politeness. 

They were his last words on earth. 

" Down, Tyrant ! " screamed Chitterlings. 



The Hoodhim Band. 465 

"Sic him — I mean sic semper tyranms /" said the 
classical Golightly. 

A heavy blow on the head from a base-ball bat, and the 
rapid projection of a base-ball against his empty stomach, 
brought the tutor a limp and lifeless mass to the ground. 
Golightly shuddered. Let not my young readers blame 
him too rashly. It was his first homicide. 

" Search his pockets," said the practical Jenkins. 

They did so, and found nothing but a Harvard Triennial 
Catalogue. 

" Let us fly," said Jenkins. 

" Forward to the boats ! " cried the enthusiastic Chitter- 
lings. 

But C. F. Adams Golightly stood gazing thoughtfully at 
the prostrate tutor. 

" This," he said calmly, " is the result of a too free 
government and the common-school system. What the 
country needs is reform. I cannot go with you, boys." 

" Traitor ! " screamed the others. 

C. F. A. Golightly smiled sadly. 

" You know me not. I shall not become a pirate — but 
a Congressman ! " 

Jenkins and Chitterlings turned pale. 

" I have already organised two caucuses in a base-ball 
club, and bribed the delegates of another. Nay, turn not 
away. Let us be friends, pursuing through various ways 
one common end. Farewell ! " They shook hands. 

" But where is Pirate Jim ? " asked Jenkins. 

" He left us but for a moment to raise money on the 
watch to purchase armament for the scow. Farewell ! " 

And so the gallant, youthful spirits parted, bright with 
the sunrise of hope. 

That night a conflagration raged in Doemville. The 
Doemville Academy, mysteriously fired, first fell a victim 

VOL. V. 2 G 



466 The Hoodlum Band. 

to the devouring element. The candy shop and cigar 
store, both holding heavy liabilities against the academy, 
quickly followed. By the lurid gleams of the flames, a long, 
low, sloop-rigged scow, with every mast gone except one, 
slowly worked her way out of the mill-dam towards the 
Sound. The next day three boys were missing — C. F. 
Adams Golightly, B. F. Jenkins, and Bromley Chitterlings. 
Had they perished in the flames? Who shall say? 
Enough that never more under these names did they again 
appear in the homes of their ancestors. 

Happy, indeed, would it have been for Doemville had 
the mystery ended here. But a darker interest and scandal 
rested upon the peaceful village. During that awful night 
the boarding-school of Madame Brimborion was visited 
stealthily, and two of the fairest heiresses of Connecticut — 
daughters of the president of a savings bank and insurance 
director — were the next morning found to have eloped. 
With them also disappeared the entire contents of the 
Savings Bank, and on the following day the Flamingo Fire 
Insurance Company failed. 



CHAPTER 11. 

Let my young readers now sail with me to warmer and 
more hospitable climes. Off the coast of Patagonia a long, 
low, black schooner proudly rides the seas, that break 
softly upon the vine-clad shores of that luxuriant land. 
Who is this that, wrapped in Persian rugs, and dressed in 
the most expensive manner, calmly reclines on the quarter- 
deck of the schooner, toying lightly ever and anon with the 
luscious fruits of the vicinity, held in baskets of solid gold 
by Nubian slaves ? or at intervals, with daring grace, guides 
an ebony velocipede over the polished black walnut decks, 
and in and out the intricacies of the rigging ? Who is it ? 



The Hoodlum Band. 46 7 

well may be asked. What name is it that blanches with 
terror the cheeks of the Patagonian navy ? Who but the 
Pirate Prodigy — the relentless Boy Scourer of Patagonian 
seas ? Voyagers slowly drifting by the Silurian beach, 
coasters along the Devonian shore, still shudder at the 
name of Bromley Chitterlings — the Boy Avenger, late of 
Hartford, Connecticut. 

It has been often asked by the idly curious, Why, 
Avenger, and of what ? Let us not seek to disclose the 
awful secret hidden under that youthful jacket. Enough 
that there may have been that of bitterness in his past life 
that they 

•'Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave," 

or " whose soul would heave above the sickening wave," 
did not understand. Only one knew him, perhaps too 
well — a queen of the Amazons taken prisoner off Terra del 
Fuego a week previous. She loved the Boy Avenger. 
But in vain ; his youthful heart seemed obdurate. 

"Hear me," at last, he said, when she had for the 
seventh time wildly proffered her hand and her kingdom in 
marriage, " and know once and for ever why I must decline 
your flattering proposal. I love another." 

With a wild, despairing cry she leaped into the sea, but 
was instantly rescued by the Pirate Prodigy. Yet, even in 
that supreme moment, such was his coolness, that on his 
way to the surface he captured a mermaid, and placing her 
in charge of his steward, with directions to give her a state- 
room, with hot and cold water, calmly resumed his place 
by the Amazon's side. When the cabin door closed on his 
faithful servant, bringing champagne and ices to the 
interesting stranger. Chitterlings resumed his narrative with 
a choking voice — 

" When I first fled from the roof of a tyrannical parent, 



468 The Hoodlum Band. 

I loved the beautiful and accomplished Eliza J. Sniffen. 
Her father was president of the Working-men's Savings' 
Bank, and it was perfectly understood that in the course of 
time the entire deposits would be his. But, like a vain 
fool, I wished to anticipate the future, and in a wild 
moment persuaded Miss Sniffen to elope with me ; and 
with the entire cash assets of the bank, we fled together." 
He paused, overcome with emotion. " But fate decreed it 
otherwise. In my feverish haste, I had forgotten to place 
among the stores of my pirate craft that peculiar kind of 
chocolate caromel to which Eliza Jane was most partial. 
We were obliged to put into New Rochelle on the second 
day out, to enable Miss Sniffen to procure that delicacy at 
the nearest confectioner's, and match some zephyr worsteds 
at the first fancy shop. Fatal mistake. She went — she 
never returned ! " In a moment he resumed, in a choking 
voice, " After a week's weary waiting, I was obliged to put 
to sea again, bearing a broken heart and the broken bank 
of her father. I have never seen her since." 

" And you still love her ? " asked the Amazon queen 
excitedly. 

" Ay, for ever ! " 

" Noble youth. Here, take the reward of thy fidelity, 
for know, Bromley Chitterlings, that I am Eliza Jane. 
Wearied with waiting, I embarked on a Peruvian Guano 
ship — but it's a long story, dear." 

" And altogether too thin," said the Boy Avenger, 
fiercely releasing himself from her encircling arms. " Eliza 
Jane's age, a year ago, was only thirteen, and you are forty, 
if a day." 

" True," she returned sadly, " but I have suffered much, 
and time passes rapidly, and I've grown. You would scarcely 
believe that this is my own hair." 

" I know not," he repUed, in gloomy abstraction. 



The Hoodlum Band. 469 

" Forgive my deceit,'- she returned. " If you are affi- 
anced to another, let me at least be — a mother to you." 

The Pirate Prodigy started, and tears came to his eyes. 
The scene was affecting in the extreme. Several of the 
oldest seamen — men who had gone through scenes of 
suffering with tearless eyes and unblanched cheeks — now 
retired to the spirit room to conceal their emotion. A few 
went into caucus in the forecastle, and returned with the 
request that the Amazonian queen should hereafter be 
known as the "Queen of the Pirates' Isle." 

" Mother ! " gasped the Pirate Prodigy. 

" My son ! " screamed the Amazonian queen. 

They embraced. At the same moment a loud flop was 
heard on the quarter-deck. It was the forgotten mermaid, 
who, emerging from her state-room, and ascending the 
companion-way at that moment, had fainted at the spec- 
tacle. The Pirate Prodigy rushed to her side with a bottle 
of smelling-salts. 

She recovered slowly. " Permit me," she said, rising 
with dignity, " to leave the ship. I am unaccustomed to 
such conduct." 

" Hear me — she is my mother ! " 

"She certainly is old enough to be," replied the mer- 
maid ; " and to speak of that being her own hair," she said, 
as she rearranged with characteristic grace, a comb, and a 
small hand-mirror, her own luxuriant tresses. 

" If I couldn't afford any other clothes, I might wear a 
switch, too ! " hissed the Amazonian queen. " I suppose 
you don't dye it on account of the salt water ? But per- 
haps you prefer green, dear ? " 

" A little salt water might improve your own complexion, 
love." 

" Fishwoman ! " screamed the Amazonian queen. 

*' Bloomerite !" shrieked the mermaid. 



470 The Hoodlum Band. 

In another instant they had seized each other. 

*' Mutiny ! Overboard with them ! " cried the Pirate 
Prodigy, rising to the occasion, and casting aside all human 
affection in the peril of the moment. 

A plank was brought and the two women placed upon it. 

'* After you, dear,^' said the mermaid significantly to the 
Amazonian queen ; "you're the oldest." 

" Thank you ! " said the Amazonian queen, stepping 
back. " Fish is always served first." 

Stung by the insult, with a wild scream of rage the mer- 
maid grappled her in her arms and leaped into the sea. 

As the waters closed over them for ever, the Pirate Pro- 
digy sprang to his feet. " Up with the black flag, and bear 
away for New London," he shouted in trumpet-like tones. 
" Ha ! ha ! Once more the Rover is free ! " 

Indeed it was too true. In that fatal moment he had 
again loosed himself from the trammels of human feeling 
and was once more the Boy Avenger. 

CHAPTER HI. 

Again I must ask my young readers to mount my hippo- 
griff and hie with me to the almost inaccessible heights of 
the Rocky Mountains. There, for years, a band of wild and 
untamable savages, known as the Pigeon Feet, had resisted 
the blankets and Bibles of civiUsation. For years the trails 
leading to their camp were marked by the bones of team- 
sters and broken waggons, and the trees were decked with 
the dying scalp-locks of women and children. The boldest 
of military leaders hesitated to attack them in their for- 
tresses, and prudently left the scalping-knives, rifles, powder, 
and shot provided by a paternal government for their 
welfare lying on the ground a few miles from their encamp- 
ment, with the request that they were not to be used until 



The Hoodlum Band, 471 

the military had safely retired. Hitherto, save an occa- 
sional incursion into the territory of the Knock-knees, a 
rival tribe, they had limited their depredations to the 
vicinity. 

But lately a baleful change had come over them. Acting 
under some evil influence, they now pushed their warfare 
into the white settlements, carrying fire and destruction 
with them. Again and again had the Government offered 
them a free pass to Washington and the privilege of being 
photographed, but under the same evil guidance they 
refused. There was a singular mystery in their mode of 
aggression. Schoolhouses were always burned, the school- 
masters taken into captivity, and never again heard from. 
A palace car on the Union Pacific Railway, containing an 
excursion party of teachers en route to San Francisco, was 
surrounded, its inmates captured, and — their vacancies in 
the school catalogue never again filled. Even a board of 
educational examiners, proceeding to Cheyenne, were taken 
prisoners, and obliged to answer questions they themselves 
had proposed, amidst horrible tortures. By degrees these 
atrocities were traced to the malign influence of a new 
chief of the tribe. As yet little was known of him but 
through his baleful appellations, '* Young Man who Goes 
for His Teacher," and " He lifts the Hair of the School 
Marm." He was said to be small and exceedingly youth- 
ful in appearance. Indeed, his earlier appellative, " He 
Wipes His Nose on His Sleeve," was said to have been 
given to him to indicate his still boy-like habits. 

It was night in the encampment and among the lodges 
of the Pigeon Toes. Dusky maidens flitted in and out 
among the camp-fires like brown moths, cooking the tooth- 
some buffalo-hump, frying the fragrant bear's-meat, and 
stewing the esculent bean for the braves. For a few 
favoured ones sput grasshoppers were reserved as a rare 



472 The Hoodlum Band. 

delicacy, although the proud Spartan soul of their chief 
scorned all such luxuries. 

He was seated alone in his wigwam, attended only by 
the gentle Mushymush, fairest of the Pigeon Feet maidens. 
Nowhere were the characteristics of her great tribe more 
plainly shown than in the little feet that lapped over each 
other in walking. A single glance at the chief was suffi- 
cient to show the truth of the wild rumours respecting his 
youth. He was scarcely twelve, of proud and lofty bear- 
ing, and clad completely in wrappings of various-coloured 
scalloped cloths, which gave him the appearance of a some- 
what extra-sized penwiper. An enormous eagle's feather, 
torn from the wing of a bald eagle who once attempted to 
carry him away, completed his attire. It was also the 
memento of one of his most superhuman feats of courage. 
He would undoubtedly have scalped the eagle but that 
nature had anticipated him. 

" Why is the Great Chief sad ? " said Mushymush softly. 
" Does his soul still yearn for the blood of the palefaced 
teachers ? Did not the scalping of two professors of 
geology in the Yale exploring party satisfy his warrior's 
heart yesterday? Has he forgotten that Gardener and 
King are still to follow ? Shall his own Mushymush bring 
him a botanist to-morrow ? Speak, for the silence of my 
brother lies on my heart like the snow on the mountain and 
checks the flow of my speech." 

Still the proud Boy Chief sat silent Suddenly he said 
" Hist ! " and rose to his feet. Taking a long rifle from 
the ground he adjusted its sight. . Exactly seven miles away 
on the slope of the mountain the figure of a man was seen 
walking. The Boy Chief raised the rifle to his unerring eye 
and fired. The man fell. 

A scout was despatched to scalp and search the body. 
He presently returned. 



The Hoodlum Band. 473 

** Who was the paleface ? " eagerly asked the chief. 

"A life insurance agent." 

A dark scowl settled on the face of the chief. 

"I thought it was a book pedlar." 

"Why is my brother's heart sore against the book 
pedlar?" asked Mushymush. 

'' Because," said the Boy Chief fiercely, " I am again 
without my regular dime novel — and I thought he might 
have one in his pack. Hear me, Mushymush. The United 
States mails no longer bring me my Young America or my 
Boys' and Girls' Weekly. I find it impossible, even with 
my fastest scouts, to keep up with the rear of General 
Howard, and replenish my literature from the sutler's 
waggon. Without a dime novel or a Yoking America^ how 
am I to keep up this Injin business ? " 

Mushymush remained in meditation a single moment 
Then she looked up proudly. 

" My brother has spoken. It is well. He shall have his 
dime novel. He shall know the kind of hair-pin his sister 
Mushymush is." 

And she arose and gambolled lightly as the fawn out of 
his presence. 

In two hours she returned. In one hand she held three 
small flaxen scalps, in the other "The Boy Marauder," 
complete in one volume, price ten cents. 

" Three palefaced children," she gasped, " were reading 
it in the tail end of an emigrant waggon. I crept up to 
them softly. Their parents are still unaware of the acci- 
dent," and she sank helpless at his feet. 

" Noble girl ! " said the Boy Chief, gazing proudly on 
her prostrate form ; " and these are the people that a 
military despotism expects to subdue ! " 



474 ^^^ Hoodlum Band. 



CHAPTER IV. 

But the capture of several waggon-loads of commissary 
whisky, and the destruction of two tons of stationery 
intended for the general commanding, which interfered with 
his regular correspondence with the War Department, at 
last awakened the United States military authorities to 
active exertion. A quantity of troops were massed before 
the Pigeon Feet encampment, and an attack was hourly 
imminent. 

*' Shine your boots, sir ? " 

It was the voice of a youth in humble attire, standing 
before the flap of the commanding general's tent. 

The general raised his head from his correspondence. 

"Ah," he said, looking down on the humble boy,^'I 
see ; I shall write that the appliances of civilisation move 
steadily forward with the army. Yes," he added, "you 
may shine my military boots. You understand, however, 
that to get your pay you must first " 

" Make a requisition on the commissary-general, have it 
certified to by the quartermaster, countersigned by the post- 
adjutant, and submitted by you to the War Department" 

" And charged as stationery," added the general gently. 
" You are, I see, an intelligent and thoughtful boy. I trust 
you neither use whisky, tobacco, nor are ever profane ? " 

" I promised my sainted mother " 

" Enough ! Go on with your blacking ; I have to lead 
the attack on the Pigeon Feet at eight precisely. It is now 
half-past seven," said the general, consulting a large kitchen 
clock that stood in the corner of his tent. 

The little bootblack looked up : the general was 
absorbed in his correspondence. The bootblack drew a 
tin putty-blower from his pocket, took unerring aim, and 



The Hoodlum Band, 475 

nailed in a single shot the minute-hand to the dial. Going on 
with his blacking, yet stopping ever and anon to glance over 
the general's plan of campaign, spread on the table before 
him, he was at last interrupted by the entrance of an officer. 

" Everything is ready for the attack, general. It is now 
eight o'clock." 

" Impossible ! It is only half-past seven." 

*' But my watch, and the watches of the staff" 

" Are regulated by my kitchen clock, that has been in my 
family for years. Enough ! it is only half-past seven." 

The officer retired ; the bootblack had finished one boot. 
Another officer appeared. 

" Instead of attacking the enemy, general, we are 
attacked ourselves. Our pickets are already driven in." 

" Military pickets should not differ from other pickets," 
said the bootblack modestly. "To stand firmly they 
should be well driven in." 

<*Ha! there is something in that," said the general 
thoughtfully. " But who are you, who speak thus ? " 

Rising to his full height, the bootblack threw off his 
outer rags, and revealed the figure of the Boy Chief of the 
Pigeon Feet. 

" Treason ! " shrieked the general ; ** order an advance 
along the whole Hne.'' 

But in vain. The next moment he fell beneath the 
tomahawk of the Boy Chief, and within the next quarter of 
an hour the United States army was dispersed. Thus 
ended the battle of Bootblack Creek. . 

CHAPTER V. 

And yet the Boy Chief was not entirely happy. Indeed, 
at times he seriously thought of accepting the invitation 
extended by the Great Chief at Washington immediately 



476 The Hoodlum Ba7id. 

after the massacre of his soldiers, and once more revisiting 
the haunts of civilisation. His soul sickened in feverish 
inactivity ; schoolmasters palled on his taste ; he had 
introduced base-ball, blind hooky, marbles, and peg-top 
among his Indian subjects, but only with indifferent 
success. The squaws persisted in boring holes through 
the china alleys and wearing them as necklaces \ his 
warriors stuck pikes in their base-ball bats, and made war- 
clubs of them. He could not but feel, too, that the gentle 
Mushymush, although devoted to her paleface brother, was 
deficient in culinary education. Her mince pies were 
abominable ; her jam far inferior to that made by his Aunt 
Sally of Doemville. Only an unexpected incident kept him 
equally from the extreme of listless Sybaritic indulgence or 
of morbid cynicism. Indeed, at the age of twelve, he 
already had become disgusted with existence. 

He had returned to his wigwam after an exhausting 
buffalo-hunt, in which he had slain two hundred and 
seventy-five buffalos with his own hand, not counting the 
individual buffalo on which he had leaped, so as to join 
the herd, and which he afterward led into the camp a 
captive and a present to the lovely Mushymush. He had 
scalped two express riders, and a correspondent of the 
New York Herald; had despoiled the Overland Mail Stage 
of a quantity of vouchers which enabled him to draw double 
rations from the Government, and was reclining on a 
bearskin smoking and thinking of the vanity of human 
endeavour, when a scout entered, saying that a paleface 
youth had demanded access to his person. 

"Is he a commissioner? If so, say that the red man is 
rapidly passing to the happy hunting-grounds of his fathers, 
and now desires only peace, blankets, and ammunition ; 
obtain the latter, and then scalp the commissioner." 

" But it is only a youth who asks an interview." 



The Hoodlum Band. 477 

" Does he look like an insurance agent ? If so, say that 
I have already policies in three Hartford companies. 
Meanwhile prepare the stake, and see that the squaws are 
ready with their implements of torture." 

The youth was admitted ; he was evidently only half the 
age of the Boy Chief. As he entered the wigwam, and stood 
revealed to his host, they both started. In another moment 
they were locked in each other's arms. 

" Jenky, old boy ! " 

" Bromley, old fel ! " 

B. F. Jenkins, for such was the name of the Boy Chief, 
was the first to recover his calmness. Turning to his 
warriors he said proudly — 

" Let my children retire while I speak to the agent of our 
Great Father in Washington. Hereafter no latch-keys will 
be provided for the wigwams of the warriors. The practice 
of late hours must be discouraged." 

" How ! " said the warriors, and instantly retired. 

"Whisper !" said Jenkins, drawing his friend aside; "I 
am known here only as the Boy Chief of the Pigeon Toes." 

"And I," said Bromley ChitterHngs proudly, " am known 
everywhere as the Pirate Prodigy — the Boy Avenger of the 
Patagonian coast." 

" But how came you here ?" 

" Listen ! My pirate brig, the Lively Mermaid, now lies 
at Meiggs's wharf in San Francisco, disguised as a Mendi- 
cino lumber vessel. My pirate crew accompanied me here 
in a palace car from San Francisco." 

" It must have been expensive," said the prudent Jenkins. 

" It was, but they defrayed it by a collection from the 
other passengers — you understand. The papers will be full 
of it to-morrow. Do you take in the New York Sun ? " 

" No ; I dislike their Indian policy. But why are you 
here ? " 



478 The Hoodlum Band. 

"Hear me, Jenk! 'Tis a long and a sad story. The 
lovely Eliza J. SnifFen, who fled with me from Doemville, 
was seized by her parents and torn from my arms at New 
Rochelle. Reduced to poverty by the breaking of the sav- 
ings bank of which he was president — a failure to which I 
largely contributed, and the profits of which I enjoyed — I 
have since ascertained that Eliza Jane Sniffen was forced to 
become a schoolmistress, departed to take charge of a semi- 
nary in Colorado, and since then has never been heard from." 

Why did the Boy Chief turn pale, and clutch at the tent- 
pole for support ? Why, indeed ? 

*' Ehza Jane Sniffen," gasped Jenkins, " aged fourteen, 
red-haired, with a slight tendency to strabismus?" 

" The same." 

" Heaven help me ! She died by my mandate ! " 

" Traitor ! " shrieked Chitterlings, rushing at Jenkins with 
a drawn poniard. 

But a figure interposed. The slight girlish form of 
Mushymush with outstretched hands stood between the ex- 
asperated Pirate Prodigy and the Boy Chief 

" Forbear," she said sternly to Chitterlings ; " you know 
not what you do." 

The two youths paused. 

"Hear me," she said rapidly. "When captured in a 
confectioner's shop at New Rochelle, E. J. Sniffen was taken 
back to poverty. She resolved to become a schoolmistress. 
Hearing of an opening in the West, she proceeded to Colo- 
rado to take exclusive charge of the pensionnat of Mdme. 
Choflie, late of Paris. On the way thither she was captured 
by the emissaries of the Boy Chief" 

" In consummation of a fatal vow I made, never to spare 
educational instructors," interrupted Jenkins. 

'' But in her captivity," continued Mushymush, " she 
managed to stain her face with poke-berry juice, and 



The iToodlum Band. 479 

mingling with the Indian maidens was enabled to pass for 
one of the tribe. Once undetected, she boldly ingratiated 
herself with the Boy Chief — how honestly and devotedly he 
best can tell — for I, Mushymush, the httle sister of the Boy 
Chief, .am Eliza Jane Sniffen." 

The Pirate Prodigy clasped her in his arms. The Boy 
Chief, raising his hand, ejaculated — 

" Bless you, my children ! " 

"There is but one thing wanting to complete this re- 
union," said ChitterHngs, after a pause, but the hurried 
entrance of a scout stopped his utterance. 

" A commissioner from the Great Father in Washington." 

" Sc^lp him ! '' shrieked the Boy Chief; " this is no time 
for diplomatic trifling." 

'^ We have, but he still insists upon seeing you, and has 
sent in his card." 

The Boy Chief took it, and read aloud, in agonised 
accents — 

" Charles Francis Adams Golightly, late page in United 
States Senate, and acting commissioner of United States." 

In another moment,. Golightly, pale, bleeding and, as it 
were, prematurely bald, but still cold and intellectual, 
entered the wigwam. They fell upon his neck and begged 
his forgiveness. 

" Don't mention it," he said quietly; " these things must 
and will happen under our present system of government. 
My story is brief. Obtaining pohtical influence through 
caucuses, I became at last page in the Senate. Through 
the exertions of political friends, I was appointed clerk to 
the commissioner whose functions I now represent. Know- 
ing through political spies in your own camp who you were, 
I acted upon the physical fears of the commissioner, who 
was an ex-clergyman, and easily induced him to deputise 
me to consult with you. In doing so, I have lost my scalp, 



480 The Hoodlum Band, 

but as the hirsute signs of juvenility have worked against 
my political progress I do not regret it. As a partially 
bald young man I shall have more power. The terms that 
I have to offer are simply this : you can do everything you 
want, go anywhere you choose, if you will only leave this 
place. I have a hundred-thousand-dollar draft on the United 
States Treasury in my pocket at your immediate disposal." 

" But what's to become of me ? " asked Chitterlings. 

" Your case has already been under advisement. The 
Secretary of State, who is an intelligent man, has deter- 
mined to recognise you as de jure and de facto the only 
loyal representative of the Patagonian Government. You 
may safely proceed to Washington as its envoy extraordinary. 
I dine with the secretary next week." 

*' And yourself, old fellow ? " 

" I only wish that twenty years from now you will recog- 
nise by your influence and votes the rights of C. F. A. 
Golightly to the presidency." 

And here ends our story. Trusting that my dear young 
friends may take whatever example or moral their respective 
parents and guardians may deem fittest from these pages, 
I hope in future years to portray further the career of those 
three young heroes I have already introduced in the spring- 
time of life to their charitable consideration. 



THE END. 



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